Recording the Moments

Just Like Grandma Use to Make

2012-01-24T07:46:00.000-08:00

I have never really thought of myself as overly domestic. To me, a domestic girl is like a pre-jail Martha Stewart. She is the girl whose intricately homemade centerpiece is surrounded by bright and innovative place settings on her dinner table. She sews, and she always makes homemade goodness for the class parties at school. She does not get behind on the laundry. I am not that girl, but over the weekend, I did make sourdough bread for the first time. I got my live yeast starter jar from my mom, who got hers from my Grandma Harvey, who got hers the year my dad was born. So I followed the detailed instructions that have be passed down for generations, and I made bread that smelled and tasted just like Grandma use to make.

I thought about how Grandma use to work her bread dough over at her kitchen table, telling stories the whole time. We gathered around her like there was a good movie on TV. As the smell drifted throughout my house, I remembered how much I love this stuff toasted with an egg and a slice of tomato! I had that for breakfast many times with my grandparents. I would love to sit down with her and ask her all about her experiences with this bread. And with canning throughout the years. And with motherhood..and with life on the farm. I would love to talk to her about my kids, cooking, and making homemade laundry detergent. I think she would love that I do that.
I have Grandma's handwritten recipe with tips, and I have Mom's adaptation involving the bread machine's dough cycle and some wheat flour. I have never felt more capable in the kitchen in all of my life, even with multiple phone calls to Mom throughout the process. Sometimes baking is about baking and feeding people, and sometimes baking is a way to honor the people who have contributed to the person you have become. Sometimes it is good to take a minute to recognize what a blessing it is to have grown up with such strong women in my life who have helped me to recognize what is important. Women who cared for their families before anything else. I have their recipes on paper, but they have also given me many unwritten principles to live by. I treasure them all. I guess maybe my hope is that one day someone will want to make something like I made it, or do something like I did it. Like maybe I did something right.

quotes from the backseat

2012-01-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

Megan: "Jaron, you're getting me nuts!"

About the Holidays

2012-01-05T07:49:00.000-08:00

I have been slacking on my blog. I was wondering how I expect to record the moments if I skip blogging about the entire 2011 holiday season? So here goes. We had a wonderful Christmas. We were healthy, and the kids possessed the perfect level of excitement. Madison performed "Jingle Bells" on the piano for the Christmas programs at church and school, and Megan sang "Jingle Bells" to anyone who would listen. Jaron was in video game heaven. Kevin and I both took four consecutive days off to spend with our families. Magan walked into the living room that morning and said, "OH! Santa left me lots of presents under dat tree!" The kids were grateful for their gifts, and for the first time we did not have a noon meal to attend on Christmas Day as it was scheduled for the day after. We were able to let the kids really dig in to their new gifts and play hard, as I baked and filled trash bags with gift exchange aftermath. There were minor hiccups, but nothing too major. Jaron sort of got puked on at one family dinner, and Megan got peed on at another. I guess those are some of the potential hazards of holiday gatherings.

Four days. Three dinners. Family. Festive socks.
Thoughtful gifts. Yummy food. Children playing to the point of exhaustion. Good times.

Judy's Jewels, Volume 1

2011-12-15T04:05:00.000-08:00

I don't know if I have told you before that my mom has always had most of the answers. When I was growing up, she was a walking dictionary. It came in handy when I was doing homework. She has gained much wisdom from experience, and she reads a lot. I appreciate that she is good about passing along jewels of wisdom gained from life, books, or people in her path. I will take all the help I can get! If something touches or inspires her, she is good about sharing it. She should probably be blogging about it...but she does not blog nearly enough these days. It's true. So I thought what if I took it upon myself to impart Judy's Jewels to the blogging world? Kids are not the only ones who need to be recorded! So this is my first in what I anticipate to be a series of posts on this topic. May you be as richly blessed by them as I am.

There are certain quotes from my mom that resurface often over the years. These are the ones that are so classic that my sister and I say them to each other if Mom is not there to say them for herself. Here are two examples.

"Assign the problem to whom it belongs."

Sometimes we worry about situations over which we have no control. Conditions in our schools, communities, or places of work. Maybe even among family members or friends. No good comes from worry, so at the end of the day, assigning the problem to whom it belongs is a great policy. If the problem is yours, work on it. If it belongs to others, let them work on it. If anyone involved needs some divine intervention, it couldn't hurt to ask for some. Mostly, she wants us to remove those unnecessary burdens from our shoulders.

"How do you eat an elephant?"

This comes up when I am overwhelmed. When duties start stacking up and I can't figure out where to start to remedy the situation. The answer is, "One bite at a time." It is impossible to fix everything all at once, so I have to step back and chip away at it one small step, or small bite, at a time. What are some things your mother told you that should be shared?

Perspective

2011-11-29T04:03:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things about Grey's Anatomy is the narrative that goes along with it. If I am lacking the energy or intelligence to pull the meaning from the episode, they spell it out in plain English. Cohesiveness makes me happy. I like it when someone puts a little thought into something to tie it all together in the end so I will think it over.

In the last episode, Meredeth talked about people saying, "I had a terrible day" when they have had a fight with their boss, had the stomach flu, spilled coffee on their shirt, or got stuck in traffic. Then, as good TV dramas do, the show went on to illustrate good people experiencing a really terrible day involving danger, tough decisions, and unexpected death. She then reminds us that those people complaining about the spilled coffee would be begging for that day back if it meant that they could be released from the horrors of this day.

I can't stop thinking about perspective since I saw that episode. Over Thanksgiving weekend, my dishwasher died. When I started thinking it was slightly tragic, my girlfriend called to tell me her house burned to the ground. Maybe I should mention they did not have house insurance. Dishwashers are not that complicated to replace, after all. And I do not need one to eat, sleep, or stay warm, and neither do my children. What if I had called my girlfriend to complain about my dishwasher that morning? I cringe at what that would have sounded like to her ears.

I hate to hear someone complain about how many gifts they have to buy at Christmastime. How must that sound to someone who lost precious family members this year? Or to someone who has not found that long awaited someone to build a family with to buy gifts for? I walk away wondering if they are truly not grateful to have loved ones on their lists. I want to tell them that they don't have to buy anything for anyone. They could make or bake them something. Christmas gifts should be a token of love, not a stressful burden.

When I want to complain about a week filled to the brim with the kids' activities, or I feel like I need a break from the demands of motherhood, I wonder how that would sound to the women who struggle for years with infertility.

How would it sound to those who do not live in the land of plenty if they overheard the complaints about the price of sugar? Or any of the other groceries we are free to pluck from the shelf?

I try not to complain about not having a huge holiday break from work. I try to be have gratitude for my job when I consider the volume of Americans out of work. I think about how it would sound to a soldier who is deployed right now. Or to the family who is out of work and losing the home they wanted to see their grandchildren come to visit for Christmas.

I am not trying to say I don't complain. I am just saying that I try to avoid treating the minor irritations of life like they are tragedies. I am just saying that I think the best perspective to have is a grateful one. Count your blessings and all of that. It may surprise us what the Lord has done.

Days Like That

2011-11-15T07:33:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, when I am caught up at work, but miserably behind on things at home, it occurs to me to take a day off and restore the balance. I like to pretend that I am a stay-at-home mom on days like this. While I am pretending, I go ahead and tell myself that I am really, really good at it. When I get to have a stay-at-home mom day, I really do it like I mean it. Anybody can be that person they would like to be for one day. Friday was that day.

Instead of getting up at 5, I slept in until 6:45. I stayed in my pajamas as I got the big kids up and ready for school. After they were safely loaded on the big bus, I had a quick visit with my sister while starting breakfast. I cooked bacon, eggs, toast, and homemade hash browns. We ate together--just the three of us. Kevin left to be productive, and I got Megan dressed and ready for the day, complete with little Laura Ingalls braids. I spent 15 minutes on my neglected elliptical machine. Still in my pajamas.

After my “workout,” I took a shower and got ready for the day. It was getting close to nine o’clock. I got busy with things like dishes, laundry, and trips to the potty with Megan. I left the TV off and the music on. I let Megan help me a lot, and when I was unable to resist her adorableness any longer, I sat right down on the kitchen floor to help her feed her baby doll, and to collect some hugs and kisses. We danced. I got out some frozen hot rolls to thaw, and put a roast in the oven with potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and onion for our supper.

I warmed up some leftover chili for lunch, and Kevin came home to eat with us. Megan talked me into painting her fingernails and toenails. “Mommy, my pity na-ohs all gone! I need my pity na-ohs back! I like purpoe.” It seemed like a good idea, so I did my toes while I was at it. I put Megan down for her nap, and then I baked cookies for the big kids to enjoy when they got home from school. After nap time we picked Kevin up and took him to get his tractor. Megan loves to go see her daddy, and she loves getting to see the cows or tractors.

The kids had an early out, and when the big bus came into view, Megan squealed with delight, “My Masson!! My bruda!” I let her run outside to greet them because waiting until they walked all the way to the door was not an option. I am glad I had our evening meal under control because I really did not do a whole lot for the rest of the day. Pretending to be awesome is kind of exhausting. After dinner, I took Madison to meet her friend for a sleepover. I watched a little TV while Jaron and Megan played in their pajamas. I gathered all of our hunting accessories, and camo and orange gear for the big opening day of deer season.

It was a good day. I am thinking about having days like that every Friday.

quotes from the backseat

2011-11-08T06:55:00.001-08:00

Jaron: "Hey, Dad, did you know phone doesn't start with an F? Because it doesn't. It starts with a P."

Me: "Did you have a good day at Barb's?"
Megan: "Yep. I play with Katie. Barb got my boogers."

These are the things we really need. To keep growing and learning. Someone to play with...and someone to take care of our needs.

The Monster

2011-11-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

This year is the first time Jaron got to go deer hunting. We got him his very own Weatherby 22-250, and I don't know what scope, and he has been target practicing with his dad. Because Madison was also going, we had to split up this time. We decided to do a little boys vs. girls, so Kevin took Jaron and I took Madison. Kevin built a shooting table for him, and we set up two separate hunting blinds in two separate fields. We hunted Saturday morning and evening without seeing anything but squirrels, turkeys, and birds. Not conducive to shooting big bucks, but very conducive to sharing hot chocolate, snacks, and jokes.

On the Sunday evening hunt, Madison and I saw several deer, but not when we were able to get a shot off. I received a text from Kevin that said, "We have deer." I heard a shot in the distance, shortly followed by, "Big buck down." I did not get to personally witness this historic moment with Jaron, but he has told me the story repeatedly, along with some reenactment and sound effects. He only had to shoot once. He mentions that a lot. He told everyone, "I shot a big buck. He was a monster!" The Monster Buck had eight points, and was twenty and a half inches wide. And Jaron has walked a little taller ever since.

Go Live or Go Home...and by the way Happy Halloween!

2011-11-01T06:55:00.000-07:00

Our hospital has been working on the transition from paper medical records to electronic medical records for over a year and a half, and our GO LIVE! date was October 31. I was part of a group of employees appointed to be in charge of building the computer applications specific to our hospital's needs, and for training those who would be using the computers (basically everyone). We had to attend many classes, and between those classes we had much building to do. Everything that was being documented on paper needed a designated place to be documented in the computer system. Think of Microsoft Office. You know, there is Word, Excel, PowerPoint, and Outlook. Well, the program we are using has applications like that for medical people to use...only instead of four of them, there are about twenty-five of them. There is an application for lab, radiology, emergency room, operating room, registration, clinical care, therapeutic reporting, resource scheduling...to name a few.

So the project was massive. Many hours underground in the basement training room were involved, and many hours trying to catch up on our regular jobs that we had neglected so we could work on the project. The bottom line is, GO LIVE! was on Halloween, and so was the kids' costume parade at school. One of the hardest things about trying to balance career and motherhood is a day like this. I feel a little bit like a failure when I miss something that is a big deal to my kids. My mom was always there for everything. Always. I guess I wanted my kids to be able to say that.

But there is an upside. While it does not hold true hospital wide, the GO LIVE! went really well for me and my department. I saw tears, I heard profanity, and I witnessed my coworkers flocking to the coffee and Halloween candy. Not so much in Cardiac Rehab. Everything I needed to do for my patients worked like it was supposed to and it was easy and exciting! Yay! (I did not spread it around too much, though, because I did not want anyone at work to be tempted to beat me up!)

I had a small epiphany at home as well. I really didn't miss anything vitally important. As is our tradition, we trick-or-treated as a family on the eve of Halloween (it's the way Halloween has always been done in our tiny town). While I was not one of the classroom party moms this time, Madison took cupcakes to school for movie day with orange and black sprinkles. And we carved pumpkins. My hope is that they will remember the trick-or-treating. And the cupcakes and the pumpkins. My hope is that the one little parade when I wasn't there will fall right off of their radar. I mean, if you look closely, they don't really look traumatized, do they?

Homemade Laundry Detergent

2011-10-20T09:14:00.001-07:00

Once I saw the Duggars (you may know them from 19 Kids and Counting) make their own laundry detergent on TV. I thought I should try that, even if it would not smell like Apple Mango Tango Gain. I never moved beyond the thought of it, and instead I marched back into the store and spent $17 on yet another jug. Well, in light of my thrifty living movement, I began to research. I found the top ten laundry detergent recipes online. They are all similar. There are only three ingredients besides water, People. Fels-Naptha soap, Borax, and Arm & Hammer Washing Soda. I headed off to my local Wal-Mart, in spite of serious doubts that they would carry these supplies, and I was pleasantly surprised when I found everything I needed. I called my cousin, who has been doing this for a couple of years now, to get some technique tips, and then I made homemade laundry detergent.

Easy peasy. You melt some grated bar soap in a saucepan with water, add the dry ingredients, and add more water. Done. Here is the interesting part: I saved at least $39 with one batch. The recipe I used made about three gallons of detergent, and it cost me less than one dollar. I spent $8 on the ingredients, and I will be able to make many batches before I buy ingredients again. It does not smell like Apple Mango Tango Gain, so I buy the dryer sheets that do. It has a very light, subtle, clean scent. It is supposed to be good for people with sensitive skin, allergies, or eczema. And I swear my clothes are softer than they were before. Of course, I did try the detergent out on the towels and the kids' clothes before I used it on my own, and I still use Shout first on things that look bad. Overall, it is working for my family. I recommend it.

Family Night Highlights

2011-10-17T08:14:00.000-07:00

A couple of months ago, I started to feel offended by the way my big kids seemed to want to be anywhere but home. I realized that I was placing too much focus on trying to keep things afloat, and I was letting opportunities for fun slip away from us. I don’t necessarily want to spend all of my “free” time on laundry and dishes, either, so I decided to make a change. I decided to have the kids help out a little more with my chores…and to reinstate Family Night.

It all starts with the white board. Each week I write on the white board whether or not we have piano lessons (Madison goes every other week). Beneath that, I label who will be one of three helpers for the week. We have a Dishes Helper (this includes setting and clearing the table, and emptying the dishwasher). Next we have a Laundry & Daddy’s Helper (Duties include bringing the laundry to the laundry room and going with Daddy each night to feed and check the cattle). Last and smallest, we have a Cooking Helper. This is always Megan. She is always underfoot when I am fixing dinner, trying her best to be helpful. I decided that if she helps bring me things I need, and throws trash away, then she has an important job, too.

Across the bottom of the board, I write, “Family Night” along with whatever we will be doing that Friday evening. The first week happened to fall when the Chiefs had their first preseason game of the year, so we watched that. The next week Rio came out on DVD. Sometimes we watch TV and make popcorn. We have gone camping(in the yard), or played games. Once, the girls watched a movie and the boys went coon hunting. The activities vary, but I always try to fix something a little more festive for supper, or we make cookies or popcorn. I am struck every week by how my little people are growing up. I look forward to learning what is on their minds. I recognized that these are the things I need to be blogging about. Moments that need to be recorded. So look forward to more Family Night Highlights to come.

This time, we put together puzzles. Megan helped some, and then she amazed herself by blowing the tiny puzzle pieces across the table. Somehow my family can turn puzzles into a competition by hiding a piece in their hands so they can be the one to put in the last piece. They learned it from their dad. I don't remember everything that was so funny, but there was lots of laughter. The kind you want to bottle up and hold next to your ear in times to come.

Sometimes I have great ideas. I’m just saying.

Quotes from Family Night:
“Do you know what USA stands for? ‘Cause I do. United States of America.”
“Okay, Megan. Now you are just being ridiculous.”
“I wonder why we can’t stop laughing!”
“I’M TALKING TO YOU!”
“That’s mines.”
“That’s mines!”
“That’s mines!”

Just as Good in My Pocket

2011-10-10T09:17:00.000-07:00

I went through a phase where I thought maybe I would be a teacher. I still think it's a good idea in the summertime. Most seasons, though, I am grateful I chose a career that works with senior citizens. For the most part, those who participate in cardiac rehab say “Please” and “Thank you”, and they show up on time. Sometimes they bring in homemade goodies, they ask about my children, and they advise me on all topics. Because they know things. They are the veterans who have seen it all, and I am just a new recruit trying to find my way.

One of my ladies was discussing the merits of price matching at Wal-Mart. She said, "That fifty cents is just as good in my pocket as it is in anybody else's!" I had not really thought about doing that before, but I have been considering it more lately. It feels to me like I am asking them for their permission to save money, and I do not want them to tell me no. And for some reason, I think many of us are embarassed to try to save money in public...like it implies that we can't take care of ourselves or our families. Like the guy we are holding up in the checkout line will judge us. I use to hear about factories closing, companies being "restructured," and people losing their jobs, and I would think it was such a shame that those people were struggling. I said a little prayer for them. These days, it is happening to people I know. So I think about it more, and I pray a little more. I have to consider that if it can happen to members of my family, my community, and my workplace, then it can happen to me. How frugally could I provide for my family if I had to? And more importantly, if a change in my employment status would lead me to put out a little more effort into saving money, then why wouldn’t I go ahead and do it right now?

So begins a new tag for my blog. Thrifty Living. I have considered some thrifty ideas such as making my own laundry detergent, price matching my groceries, and looking a little harder for coupons. I am not so good at turning those thoughts into my savings, though. Until now, anyway. So, hop on board with me as I try to stretch dollars, cut expenses, and build savings. Suggestions or comments are welcome! My money is just as good in my pocket as it is in anyone else's, so it is about time I tried to keep it there!

Speaking Now (Part Two)

2011-10-04T06:29:00.000-07:00

I want to say that I took Madison to the concert because I am an awesome mom and Taylor Swift is her favorite singer, but I have to admit that I LOVE her too! We were both seriously counting down. I am impressed with artists who have beautiful voices and can sing anything you put in front of them, but I am in awe of those who can write their own songs, play their own instruments, and make you feel something when they sing.

I love how Taylor (I think we are on a first name basis now that I have seen her in person and everything) carries a theme throughout her Speak Now album. While Speak Now is a fun song about breaking up a wedding, as she tells us in the album jacket, every song on the album is made up of the things she should have said when the moment was right in front of her. I’m sorry. I was enchanted to meet you. You should have known better. You are the best thing that’s ever been mine. Why you gotta be so mean? I see sparks fly whenever you smile. Who you are is not what you did. I had the time of my life with you. I love you.
The show was sensational, and fabulously filled with all kinds of wonderful.

Dancing: I’m not talking about backup dancers. I'm talking center stage tap, jazz, and ballet dancing. Like a musical.

Theatrics: Each song was acted out in a play-like production, backed by huge props to set the scene. There were aerial acrobats, fireworks, and confetti. Lots of confetti. We are still mystified by the number of wardrobe and hairstyle changes she managed to pull off.Music: Of course she sang all of our favorite songs, but in addition she played the banjo, ukulele, piano, and several sparkly guitars. So, this night was sparkling, and I am pretty sure all 50,000 people who attended will never let it go. We were wonderstruck, and we were definitely enchanted to meet Taylor Swift. At twenty-one years old, while many of her peers are getting drunk, arrested, and checking themselves into rehab, she is writing songs that inspire, motivate, and entertain girls of all ages, and bringing them to life on this tour. She is lighting up the stage and the eyes of our daughters. I kind of want to be more like her when I grow up.

Speaking Now (Part One)

2011-09-28T06:48:00.000-07:00

So, in the spirit of simplifying my life, I have been trying to give the kids more experiences in place of material gifts. For Madison’s birthday in May, I got tickets to see Taylor Swift at Arrowhead Stadium on September 24. It seemed to be an eternity away at the time. My friend got on board with her two daughters and her niece. We kept it a secret that Molly was going with us until she got her tickets for her birthday in August. I can't tell you how many times she told us how lucky we were to be going. When she finally got her tickets, my tough little niece with four brothers actually cried...and maybe her mom and I did, too.

So when the big day FINALLY rolled around, we all headed to the big city. Three adults and an assortment of six girls ranging in age from nine to twenty. We played the Speak Now album all the way to the hotel. Madison called the pizza place and ordered her first pizza for delivery. All the girls (and some moms) had their hair, makeup, and nails done, complete with a thirteen painted on their right hands. We were ready. If you have never taken your daughter to the concert of her dreams before, get on Ticketmaster and get your tickets today. In those final moments before the show begins her face will look like this:And when she catches her first glimpse of her shero rising from beneath the stage, she will scream with excitement like this:She will wave her glow stick in the air like she means it. She will sing along with every single song, only stopping to break out in crazy applause between them. You will sing right along with her, but you might cry a little.

After the concert we capped off the evening with breakfast at Denny's in the wee hours of the morning. I think the decision to give experiences instead of things might be the best choice I have made in a really long time. We all win. It was a beautiful day for mothers and daughters, aunts and nieces, cousins and friends. Any suggestions on where we should go next?

Déjà vu

2011-09-19T07:29:00.000-07:00

When I was little, one of my favorite things to do with some of my childhood friends was to play school. When I was at their house, I always got to be the teacher because I was company. When they came to my house, these two sisters had to take turns. I actually wrote my name on the wall next to their staircase while playing school once. Some of the letters were backwards and everything. I don't even remember getting in trouble. Their mom laughed about it for years.

I guess that is what good friends do...they overlook your mistakes and enjoy the good times. There were a lot of good times, especially because there was never a time when I did not know Tatum. She was five weeks old when I was born. We grew up together. She was with me through thirteen years of school, and countless hours spent playing softball and basketball. Team movie nights. School dances and field trips. Birthday parties, back yard campouts, and wet bananas. Bus rides and hotel stays. When our dads were hunting. When our families took our boats to the lake most summer weekends. When our families worked up corn, cut wood, or completed other projects needing extra hands.

I know her childhood almost as well as my own, and I know she went on to become an actual teacher, instead of a pretend one. This year, my daughter is in her class. I have been looking forward to this, but I have to tell you it feels a little strange to hear Madison telling me things "her teacher" says in the classroom and know she is talking about Tatum. I knew I hoped my child wouldn't act up in class and stress out my friend, and I hoped they would like one another. I hoped it would not feel weird for her if she had to approach me with any concerns. I knew it would be a struggle to remember to call her Mrs. Reed. What I did not expect was to feel such a vivid sense of déjà vu. It feels like we have been through this age before. You know, this Little House on the Prairie reading, Parent Trap watching, leg shaving, basketball playing age. It feels like we are going through fourth grade together. Again. I am even planning to help chaperon a field trip to the state capitol this year, so there is at least one more shared bus ride in our future!

This is one of my favorite things about growing up in a small town. Placing my child into the hands of a lifelong, dear friend, and the security that comes from knowing she will be well taken care of. Every week so far, Madison's behavior report has been great, and recently, when asked how she liked her teacher this year, she said, "I love her so much, I wish there were two of her!" I guess all that practice playing school really paid off for Tatum. I mean, Mrs. Reed.

Simple Pleasures

2011-09-12T10:48:00.001-07:00

We have spent the last two weekends doing the local festival/small town reunion sort of thing. Simple pleasures like wrist bands, carnival rides, and bouncy houses. Live music. Hot dogs, cotton candy, and no naps. These are the weekends that require an extra cup of coffee for Mom on Monday morning. The weekends where playing hard is the only thing we get accomplished. The only thing that would improve them would be spending a little time with my camera, or getting together with family for fish and cake. Oh, wait...we did that too! Festivals, family, fun, and (almost) Fall. These are a few of my favorite things.

Don't Judge Me.

2011-08-25T11:20:00.000-07:00

I am not going to lie about it. I was ready for school to start this year. I am not saying my children are being rowdy and getting on my nerves. I am not wishing for them to grow up even more quickly than the years are flying by already. I enjoy ballgames and swimming, and not having to adhere to bedtimes just like the next mom, but for me, summer is by far the most chaotic season of the year. I try to spend quality time with the family. I try to get enough hours in at work to make it worth paying triple my normal babysitting fee. Don't forget about the garden, the sports, the canning...the three kids in the back of my Impala everywhere I go occasionally chiming in with the, "He's touching me!" woes. Summer is filled with many late nights followed by early mornings, and over time they simply wear us out!! The part of me that wants you to believe I am an awesome mom wants to say I have been dreading this day and I hate to see them begin a new, more grown up year. But I haven't and I don't. I'm just saying I was ready for school to start. I have had the kids' bags waiting by the door, packed with bright, shiny, labeled items, for almost three weeks. I am excited about the teachers the kids will have(there will be more blogging about that), and I am glad to relax back into a predictable routine. My bulletin board, white board, and homework station are all ready to go. I am ready to deliver my sleepy toddler to and from her sitter in peace, and hear all about the wonderful things the big kids are learning when I get home. Happy, happy first day of school! :)

Don't judge me.

A Shared Purpose

2011-07-15T09:25:00.001-07:00

Many people are equal parts shocked and dismayed when I talk about having a big garden. I have heard, "I had to weed my parents' garden throughout my entire childhood, and I will never put my kids through that!" Someone else said, "It's so much easier to go out and buy a can of green beans. I don't understand why anyone would go to all that trouble!" Many people mention they are too busy for a garden...or especially for canning vegetables. I walk away wondering if they think I am not busy, but that is another blog post for another day.

The way I see it, women have always tried to provide for their loved ones. To nurture them. When I think about the way we raise our gardens and preserve our vegetables, I think about centuries of women who have shared this purpose. I think about how they had to save seeds from one year to the next to survive, or carry them from civilization to their homesteads in covered wagons, and create a garden from nothing. Create a home from nothing. I consider trying to garden before tractors, plows, tillers, and seed catalogs. I try to imagine canning over a wood burning stove. Those things sound like a lot of work to me.

I mean, some days, whether I pick beans morning, noon, or evening, it is hot. My back often screams for mercy before I am quite finished with a row. But when the picking is done, I come into the air conditioned house, or I sit under a shade tree next to our swimming pool to watch my little people splash and play, to snap the beans. This is the part that takes the longest. It is time that can be spent quietly in front of the TV, or in a group surrounded by chatter. All my kids know how to snap beans. I take the heads and tails off and give them to Megan, and she snaps them, exactly the width of her hand. Perfect green bean size. She says, "I break it, Mommy!" And she is proud of what she can do. Just like I am proud of what I can do. Every time I hear the click that is a jar lid sealing, I smile. I feel like I am doing the best I can for the people I love. I look at these jars on my shelves, and I consider where they came from. I know where they grew, and whether they have been chemically altered(which they haven't). I know whose hands have touched them, and I rest assured that I will never have to recall a certain batch due to some dangerous bacterial outbreak in the factory. Those are some of the reasons I go to all the trouble. I have canned 96 quarts of green beans so far this year, all because the women before me taught me how. Because the women before them taught them how.

Gardening, and preserving what we have grown, is a family affair. The kids can't wait for the beautiful spring day when we begin to plant. They love marveling as the garden grows. They love being the first one to spot a tomato turning red, or the first pepper to sprout from its leafy plant. Every time I load the pressure cooker, I picture my grandma in her farmhouse kitchen, wearing a homemade dress of purple plaid material. Instead of snapping green beans, I can see my grandpa on the couch in his overalls, cutting his with a knife. I think about the people who canned vegetables for me the summers I had new babies. I remember all the time spent as a child helping and learning, and the time I spend now gardening with my family. Sharing the purpose of preservation with the next generation. All things considered, I don't think it is any trouble at all.

Like Today is Your Birthday

2011-07-12T07:52:00.000-07:00

It's my birthday. I think it is an unwritten code among us girls that I follow on this day each year. I am compelled to try to wear one of my more trendy outfits, or a newer set of scrubs if I am working, and I take the time to do something with my hair and makeup. No, I don't do that every day. Some days I do a pony tail and take my makeup with me with the intention of putting it on later. After caffeine. Every year on my birthday, I tend to try to think things over and regroup. Kind of like New Year's Day. I exercise and have a healthy breakfast. I try to have more patience for toddlers who want to take the time to buckle their own seat belts, boys who need help turning the water hydrant off as they water the dogs(although every other day he does this fine on his own), and girls who drag their feet getting ready for the day. I squeeze my husband just a little bit longer as he heads out the door to go to work. I get to connect with all of my favorite people...either in person or through texting, phone calls, or Facebook. I do a better job remembering my manners and being the person I want to be. A person family and friends would be proud to know. I work a little bit harder at work and I play a little bit harder at home. Bottom line, I put more effort into making sure I have a great day.

On the way to work Nickelback came on the radio with "If Today Was Your Last Day." It's kind of a rock version of Tim McGraw's "Live Like You Were Dying." Both of them are saying live like there is no tomorrow...do everything you ever wanted to do, donate every dime you ever made, forgive your enemies, love your families. I love the parts about loving deeper, speaking sweeter, giving forgiveness, and being a friend a friend would like to have. I love both songs, and the message they are trying to get across, but People, I am not going to sky dive. I am not going to ride a bull named Fu Manchu.

I think, instead of living like I am dying, I want to live like it is my birthday. I want to wear only my nice clothes, and work on being more presentable each day. I want to commit to being more healthy, more reflective, more patient, and more loving. I want to reach out more and stress out less. I want to put more effort into making sure I have a great day every day. And every 365 days, when it really is my birthday, it will be just another day.

Heavy

2011-07-06T19:17:00.001-07:00

My heart is heavy this week as I consider some optimistic misconceptions I have had over the years. I use to think that eventually the world would make perfect sense to me, and I would know the answers to every question, just like my mom always did. I guess I always thought that if there was a couple who wanted children, and they would be awesome parents, that they would be able to have a whole houseful. Or at least one sweet baby to cherish. I think in the back of my mind somewhere I always assumed that if there was a mom who did not want a child, or found she was unable to care for that child, that she would give it up for adoption, so the child could grow and prosper regardless of her mother's capabilities. I never thought a mother could be involved in the death and disposal of her own daughter...because we all know whether she did it or not (and I think she did), she knows who did it and did nothing. I can only imagine what kind of horrors could bring a woman to that place, where she could be that girl.

I think I always assumed that if there was a good mom, whose child was the light of her life, that she would have the opportunity to raise that child. That she would guide him through each milestone, and laugh along with his triumphs and cry along with his struggles, and help him become the person he was meant to be. The truth is, the world makes little sense to me much of the time. There are answers I don't have. Wonderful couples never realize their dream of parenthood. Mothers murder their own precious babies. And moms are taken from their small children in the blink of an eye. I am helpless to change any of it. And my heart is heavy.

Let's Hear it For the Boys

2011-06-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

My favorite boy is seven. This year finds him all about sports. For his birthday, we got him an outdoor basketball goal, and he shoots for hours. Traveling and double dribbling go on a lot, but I think he will remedy that on his own soon enough. He loves kick ball and soccer and riding his bike, and he loves playing pee-wee baseball. He hits the ball almost every time he is up to bat, and then he runs like he means it. He plays like he doesn't know he is one of the smallest ones on the team. It's one of my favorite things.

We had a sports themed birthday party. The kids split up to do a hoop shoot, a bean bag toss, to bat with the ZipNHit, and then they played a soccer game together. "Big kid" cousins Lance and Lane were referees. Everyone got an MVP award, and goody bags sporting stickers, medals, whistles, ring pops, and wrist bands. My 5-year-old nephew is still wearing his medal everywhere he goes. I think it was a boy equivalent of a spa day.

Jaron continues to melt my heart with his sweet personality most of the time. While he picked out a birthday gift for Madison weeks before her birthday, and he often tries to entertain Megan, these days I also see him getting enjoyment from teasing his sisters. I guess it's kind of what boys do. He does many things that big boys do now. He likes to collect bugs and go hunting and fishing, and gross things don't really gross him out anymore. Over the past year he has really made great strides in coming out of his shell. Sometimes I think as he grows I am becoming less important on his radar. Like he only thinks of me when he is hungry or needs to find his belt for his baseball uniform. Like he needs me less. Dad seems to be the cool one. Dad is the one watching Mizzou or playing outside the most. Jaron does not run up to hug me with his arms open wide nearly as often as he use to...but sometimes he still does. And sometimes I catch him looking for me after he gets a big hit or crosses home plate, to make sure I saw it, and I love it that I did. So I hope he will need me a little longer. I mean, when I can't help giving him a big hug or kiss out in public, he still lets me. And he is still really good about saying, "G'night, Mom. Love ya." I don't know about him, but I think I will always need that. Happy Birthday, Jaron! I hope being seven will be a big adventure for you!

Just Letting It Be

2011-06-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

I have loved Kevin for as long as I can remember. I know people talk about falling in love and falling out of love and everything, but I don't think I know what that means. I don't remember an instant when it smacked me over the head and I was helpless to his charms or anything...and so I don't believe in the possibility that I could wake up one day and find that my feelings from the last 20 years of my life have vanished, either. I realize it all started out as 13-year-old girl's crush, but eventually I stopped focusing on the cute boy on the basketball court and began to consider the man he would become. I started thinking about what kind of husband he might be someday, and what kind of father he could be. I knew he would teach them to fish when they were old enough. I imagined he would teach them to shoot, both guns and basketballs. I was right about all of that. He also teaches them about animals and gardening and building things. He manages to teach them about responsibility and fun all at once. You can choose a person to be with for the rest of your life, and you can think you know they will be a good dad, but really, you have to hope they pan out as a parent. I mean, how can you really know for sure until those babies come along?

In honor of Father's Day, I can honestly tell you now...he is pretty great at it. Maybe he could have changed more diapers. Maybe he could have elected not to teach Jaron to ride his bike with no hands. Nobody is perfect. When our kids bring their broken bikes to him, he fixes them. When he is leaving, and they want to go with him, he takes them. When they cry, he comforts them. When they want to snuggle with him to fall asleep, he lets them. He praises and encourages, and when it works out he is always proud of their accomplishments. I think he has all the important stuff down. I'm just saying, I think love worked out for me. Not falling in it or out of it. Just letting it be.

What Sisters Do

2011-06-13T06:24:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I thought all sisters kind of looked out for each other. I thought all sisters would be glad to spend some time together. I have been rudely awakened by people over the years who can barely stand to be around their sister. I know people who dread the holidays and only hope to get through them without some type of family feud. I hope they are the exception, and not the rule. Why don't they know what sisters do? I think about my sister a lot as I watch my daughters' relationship develop. I love how much Madison has always been devoted to her baby sister, and as Megan gets older, I love to see how much she loves her Sissy. She is Madison's biggest fan. I remember that, because I am the little sister. I was the biggest fan. I was the one who wanted to do everything like my cool big sister did. I have learned over time that I am not going to be just like her, because we are different in a lot of ways. My eyes are brown, hers are blue. I can't draw a stick figure, and she teaches art. Those differences make things more fun and interesting, I cannot see how differences in the people we are could divide us. Today, in honor of my only sister's birthday, I would like to tell you about what sisters do.

Big sisters:
Teach you how to do a cartwheel
Fix your hair for prom, and occasionally on school picture day
Play "I'm going on a trip.." as you fall asleep
Cry when your boyfriend is stupid
Haul their babies around in the evenings to watch your ball games
Follow your baby from the operating room to the nursery at the hospital, with a video camera, so nobody gets switched at birth, and you can enjoy those moments that happened while you were in recovery
Clean your house the day you bring that baby home from the hospital
Love your children
Help you in raising those children (with advice, planning, babysitting, etc.)
Share in your triumphs...and your sorrows
Give you nephews to love
Call you for all the big reasons, and the little ones, too

Little sisters:
Look up to their big sister

My Place

2011-06-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

So my house is small, and it is somewhere around a hundred years old. Sometimes I feel dissatisfied with it, and I think I need a new one. I see beautiful, new homes everywhere I go. Maybe we will do that someday. My new house will have an open floor plan. A nice, big space for birthday parties. It will have more storage, more open space, and another bathroom. The laundry room will be right off of the bathroom, too. That just makes so much sense to me. It is fun to think about sometimes. Kevin and I are a pretty good construction team, actually. I know we could do that, build a house, but most of the time I don't really think we need to do that. I mean, when I sit on the swing in my front yard, I feel the grass under my feet, and I see this:We have a garden in the back yard. I hope to fill the pantry with potatoes, green beans, and tomatoes this summer, if we can keep it weeded, like this: We have three little people who love to ride bikes, play catch, or run around back there, like this:Cattle graze peacefully in our pasture, and fish swim in our ponds. We have dogs and cats...and flowers. We don't have a stressful mortgage hanging over our heads. In the big picture, I can't say that I am dissatisfied with any of that. Old, new, large, or small, what does it really matter? The people inside (or outside) make it my place. This is where I work, play, praise, scold, worry, laugh, love, hope, and dream. Live. What else could I possibly need?

Spa Day 2011

2011-06-01T06:16:00.000-07:00

The idea to have a spa day birthday party was a fabulous one...and it was my sister's. Moms of boys have these amazing ideas, full of pink bows and ruffles and lace, or make up, curling irons, and nail polish. One by one, some of my favorite girls started offering to help out. Family and friends quickly volunteered to hostess, do nails, makeup, and hair. Spa Day kept growing and growing, and I have to say the end result was a day Madison and her friends will never forget, and a day I will always cherish.

Madison made her own cupcakes all by herself, because she is nine years old, after all. We went to Ma Judy's house, and decorated things with lots of hot pink. Her friends came over and all of the girls worked their way through our "stations." They got to get in the outdoor hot tub, they got their hair, nails, and makeup done, and Mom had fancy dresses for them to wear(including my senior prom dress). Some of the "big girls" got their hair and nails done as well. Lunch and cupcakes were served with pink lemonade, of course. Little girls felt like princesses. Madison told me on the way home that it was her best birthday ever. After the spa day was over, Kevin and I took the kids to Colton's to cap off the birthday celebration. She covered her pink cheeks as they banged on the pots and pans to get everyone's attention to announce her birthday in the middle of the restaurant.

The entire day was a scrapbook page just waiting to happen. Our family and friends pulled together to make Madison's ninth birthday special in a way that was absolutely inspiring. I am filled to my beautifully painted toes with gratitude to have so many people in my life who love and support my little family. To know Madison will continue growing up surrounded by this exquisite network of love and encouragement...I mean, it is all any mother can want for her child on her birthday, and all the days of her life.

Big Kid Road Trip

2011-05-24T15:05:00.000-07:00

Today Megan left our home state for the first time. Kevin had to see a specialist. At 7:30 AM. On a Tuesday morning. We toyed with the idea of going the night before and getting a hotel room, but wouldn't you know Monday night was the first official night of summer ball, and of course Madison and Jaron both had a game. Same night. Same time. Different towns. So the boys went their way and we girls went our way and we compared notes afterwards. We decided that because we were leaving the house by 4 AM(and because Mom offered), the big kids could go home with Ma Judy following game night so they could ride to school with her the next morning, and maybe we could just take Megan along with us. Maybe she would sleep in the car and it would be no big deal to have a toddler in her car seat for seven hours in one day. It could happen.

I am kind of bad about thinking of Megan as my baby, even though she is trying to make sure I notice she is getting so over the whole baby thing. I changed her diaper in the dark, while she slept, and put the cutest little khaki capris on her. She looked like such a big kid. I pulled her from bed, still in her pajama shirt and wild hair, and took her, blankie in hand, straight to the car. As I fastened the harness she said, "I'm ti-red, Mommy. I'm ni-night." Her eyes stayed closed, and her lips stayed parted. Sometimes it looks so exhausting to be two years old. She did sleep the entire way to the doctor's office. At 7:30 I woke her up to finish getting her dressed and to let her eat breakfast. The doctor had a wonderful play room with blocks and Dr. Seuss books, so that is where Megan and I settled down while Kevin was evaluated. We tried everything in the room at least once. When I showed her the tower I made with Legos she squealed with delight and said, "Awesome, Mommy! Good job!" When did she learn awesome? When I took it apart to do something else she said, "Oh, no, Mommy! Good grief!" I might know where that came from. She showed me a triangle, circle, and square. She acted like such a big kid.

Afterward we took her to Cabela's. We were excited to show her all of the animal displays, and I expected her to point and say things like, "I see deer. I see fish. I see bears." I knew she would try to see everything all at once. That's the only part I got right. What she did say was, "Looky Mommy, the fishies are swimmin' in the water!" She said, "Looky, Mommy, those deer are climbin' on the mountain!" When we got to the bears that stan d ten feet tall on their hind feet, swatting at each other, she said, "Looky Mommy! The teddy bears are giving a hug!" Of course she repeated everything for Daddy as well, to be sure he also knew what was going on. She also said, "Mommy, let's go see the elfeet! Let's go see the elfeet!." Elfeet is Megan for elephant. Which I did not know until today. I was aware that she knows farm animals and animals we hunt and catch, but I did not imagine she had any idea what an elephant was.

After Cabela's, we went to the 54th Street Grill, where she sat up and ate her kids' meal, with lots of dip, like a big kid. And she rode the entire way back home without fussing. That whole thing about peacefully taking a toddler in the car most of the day? It happened. So here comes the epiphany. I think of Megan as my baby. It occurred to me that I don't expect enough from her. She is constantly exceeding my expectations. And showing me she is much more grown up that I might be ready for. I am constantly surprised when she looks like a big kid or she acts like a big kid or she speaks like a big kid, and today, for the first time, I am finally starting to recognize that maybe it is not that she is behaving like a big kid, but that she is becoming one.

Sigh.

Be Still, My Heart

2011-05-16T06:55:00.000-07:00

We are a few months into piano lessons, and there is a piano in our home now. The piano teacher was excited when I called to tell her a lady at work had a Story & Clark piano she no longer wanted. When I told her she wanted to give it to us she exclaimed, "Be still, my heart!"

That's the funny thing about Madison learning to play the piano. I thought I would be excited about every onward and upward step she takes. I thought my heart would be leaping out of my chest in anticipation of her performances. It doesn't really feel like that. When she was asked to play her recital piece for the school's Spring Fling I was nervous for her. When her eyes got round as they announced her name and I saw her head give the slightest shake left to right and back again, my stomach was absolutely in knots. Watching her cross the floor to center court in front of the packed gymnasium and sit down at the piano, I could barely breathe. I was scared and excited and crazy proud and I wanted to be sure I did not miss a single note. My heart was still. And it ached with pride and love and wonder at her big kid abilities. I may as well tell you that I cried a little. Afterward, with red cheeks, she opted out of her curtsy and walked briskly back to her seat. The first thing she said to me was, "I. Was scared. To Death!" But she was smiling, and so was I. My child is beginning to accomplish things that I never did. She has her own strengths and talents and vulnerabilities. The front row is much more still sometimes than I thought it would be, but it is absolutely breathtaking.

Highlighting

2011-05-04T12:46:00.000-07:00

As you may recall, I have always had sort of a soft spot for pianos. I have always wanted to be able to play, and have always planned on learning as an adult along with my children. While getting a piano has always been part of my long term plan, I got a keyboard for Madison for Christmas because a) our house is less than 1,000 square feet and there are five of us b) keyboards are much more affordable. I decided that if Madison loved her lessons, and we finally get that bigger home, then I would get a piano.

Well, a lady at work announced that she had a piano she would like to give away. She is buying a house that includes one, and she wants it to go to a loving home where it will be played. We continue to live in our small house. The piano has scratches. She found a spaghetti noodle stuck between two of the keys, demonstrating some obvious and blatant maltreatment. But it is a Story & Clark. Old English makes something for scratches. I did not hesitate. The most common question I am getting from those who know and love me is, "Where are you going to put it?" And that is the question.

I made a list of all of the furniture in my house. It was a long list for such a small space. I highlighted all of the furniture that I love. Grandad's table. Grandma's dresser. Kevin's grandmother's dresser. The kitchen table and chairs. Grandpa's end table. Beyond that, I found that I was surprisingly flexible. Because when considering what furniture I care about, I could easily see that the people who handed down this furniture matter the most. I got rid of my big, bulky computer desk that I gave $12.50 for at an auction. I mean I burned it. In a fire. Seriously, it felt like riding an intertube down a waterslide. It was THAT liberating. I got rid of a bench and moved my cedar chest next to the door to await its departure. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something to get something. Everything cannot fit into one little house or one little life. Whether discussing furniture, people, or activities, we simply cannot fit everything in, and eventually decisions have to be made. Highlight or remove. A treasure or clutter. Quantity of stuff or quality of relationships. Peter Walsh would be so proud of me.

So I did what you do when something matters. When someone matters. I made room. I prepared a place. I have been looking closely around my small house and at the things I choose to keep here, and I am confident there will be more things that can go. I am also certain that when the piano makes it to my list this weekend, it will be highlighted.

Guest Blogger

2011-04-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

The Big Fish

Once there was a boy named Jaron. He liked to fish. He liked fishing off the bridge. One day he went to fish at the bridge. He snagged a big fish. It took the bait. He got another bait. He got a big fish. He reeled, it was the biggest fish ever!

High/Low

2011-03-28T19:17:00.000-07:00

I stole this from a movie I saw years ago. It was The Story of Us, starring Bruce Willis and Michelle Pfeiffer. At the dinner table, the family would take turns sharing the best parts of their day and the worst parts of their day. Things move so fast with jobs and kids in school that this is a good way to stop and celebrate with the kids or offer sympathy as the situation requires. I like to focus on the positive so I debated on leaving the lows out of it. I have come to appreciate this insight into the things that linger with them throughout their day spent away from me. Whether positive or negative, these memories and their reactions to them give me wonderful glimpses into their personalities. I have started a notebook.

Here are some of the highs I have heard about over the last few weeks:
Today we played soccer in PE, and I was the champion.
My tooth got wiggly.
We got to go outside for second recess.
Fishing with Dad.
Getting my hair cut.
In music, I played my recital piece for my class and I even remembered that there are two of that last note.
Going to Mizzou.
Today Mrs. Stull read a book about a teacher having a baby because that is what she is going to do. She said Stephen is hoping for a boy, but I said girl because our baby is so cute. Just look at her!
I got a homerun today.

And some lows:
Today I flushed the stool...and the water came up.
I am a little nervous about pulling my tooth.
After I climbed the tree, Tucker moved the board so I couldn't get down until I hollared for Mamaw.
Nothing.

What Matters Most: He Said, She Said

2011-03-18T07:32:00.001-07:00

So the reason I made the decision to make my own birthday cakes for my children revolves mostly around the concept of making memories. I remember my family making many beautiful cakes for me, and I love that. I also love small traditions throughout life that sort of weave themselves into each other to create what makes us who we are. My family has enjoyed some cake making people over the years, and I wanted to be one of those guys. To pass the torch and carry on the legacy, you know? The memory is the important thing. So let me take you back a couple of weeks to tell you about Megan's birthday cake...probably my most memorable cake ever.

To start with, it is impossible to find Barney birthday cake decorations, outside of edible images. Forget in the store, I could not even find them online. Everyone said he was discontinued. I called the grocery stores. One of them gave me the number for this special cake store in Kansas City that "always has everything you are looking for." No, they do not. The babysitter finally came through for me when she discovered a 15-year-old toy a friend had given her son many years ago. Perfect. He was Farmer Barney, holding a pig, which Megan would absolutely love!

I bought a new bottle of Wilton Violet icing coloring. This is the same shade of purple I have used in the past to make the girls' butterfly and flower cakes. Just purple. So after I had baked the two layers of cake and frosted them white, I popped the top on this color and started to add some to my second batch of frosting. And it started turning blue. Bright, bold, cloudless sunny day blue. Not an on-the-way-to-purple blue. But this is my big picture year, you know, don't sweat the small stuff and all of that. Go with the flow. So I added some hot pink that I had on standby...which led to a nasty grayish blue. More like a storm is on the way and it will get ugly. So I thought I would just add more of my "Violet" and bring back the bright blue. Barney is wearing denim overalls, so blue will work after all, right? Go with the flow.

I had to put the entire bottle of "Violet" in that frosting. I mean, there is no way this icing was safe for human consumption after all of the food coloring I had to put in there. I may have gotten a little agitated as I was adding more and more coloring and I was mixing the frosting, because somehow I managed to splatter some of my frosting all over the counter and yes, the white cake as it awaited decoration(note to self: from now on, mix the frosting on the counter and leave the cake on the table). But I am still going with the flow. I am trading my purple plans in for blue, because Megan will not care in the least. I can cover the splatters on the cake by adding many extra random stars on top. It will be fine. And it was. While it stressed me enough to have to talk through it with my mom on speaker phone, overall I was proud of my Big Picture mentality.

Here we are, an hour from party time. I put the cake out in my utility room, on the freezer, and decide now would be the best time to take my shower. Megan is sleeping in her crib. Madison and Jaron are outside helping their dad unload the wood trailer. Madison's friend is playing inside instead of helping them because she has a cold. In the shower it occurs to me that I have not taken a picture of the cake. Amateur mistake. I always take a picture of the cake the second I get it finished, just in case little fingers dip into the frosting before party time. Always. But not this time. So I get out of the shower, dry off, and get dressed. I am blow drying my hair and I decide the second I leave this bathroom, I will take a picture of the cake. Before I start thinking about getting all of the food out and everything. This is when Madison's friend knocks on the door. She says, "Valerie, Jaron put the cat in the house, and he is on top of the freezer licking the cake." Licking. The. Cake.

I run to see for myself. It is true. We do not have cats in the house. The kids bring them in to play with them on occasion, but they have to get permission. As a general rule, we do not have cats in the house. I grab the cat and throw him outside. I yell at my only son. For awhile. I cry, People. Not a solitary tear glistening its way down my cheek...but more like a kid whose dog just got ran over. I cannot fix the cake this time. My extra frosting has been discarded and the bowls washed(note to self: keep leftover frosting right up until go time). My blood is boiling. The big picture is nowhere in sight. I have never even heard of a flow to go with. It is a meltdown. The kind of meltdown that emotional, superficial girls who do not know what is important have. That girl was me.I know I should have gone with the flow once more. I should have focused on what matters most. The big picture.

*Megan has a whole tribe of people who love her and who wanted to celebrate the fact that she was born. And she loved the cake.

*Megan has a mom who really tries hard, sometimes with success and sometimes failing miserably, to be a good one.

*Jaron was crushed at the thought of his mom crying, and quickly forgave her outburst as she forgave his small lapse in judgment.

*I can count on one hand the times I have known my mother to buy a cake. But in my moment of emotional chaos, she offered to drive to the grocery store, buy a cake, and bring it to me, driving some of her least favorite roads in the process. (At the time, I told her no, I was just going to cancel the party instead, but it was her thoughtfulness I am focusing on here.)

*Even a frosting splattered, ill-colored, cat-licked cake is carrying on the tradition. And it is definitely making a memory.
**************************************************************
The following week this came home in Jaron's backpack from his first grade class.

Blacky Ran Away By Jaron

Once upon a time there was a cat named Blacky. He was a good pet. He liked to run. One day I let Blacky in the house before my sistter's party. I heard my mom yell! The kittin had licked the cake. My mom threw Blacky outside. Blacky was mad at mom and me. Blacky was hiding. I was looking all over for Blacky. He was no war. I looked on the porch. He was there. I was happy!

Birthdays and Real Life

2011-03-04T19:56:00.000-08:00

Today was Megan's second birthday. I am not having her party until tomorrow, but two years ago today I learned my baby would share her birthday with my Granny--which had to be a wonderful sign. I would love to write about all of the magical memories we made today when it was just the two of us. Those special bonding moments that can only happen between a mother and her daughter. I am picturing things like swinging in the park in the sunshine and kicking a ball around in a lush, green back yard, but those things did not happen today.

To begin with, it poured down rain. It is barely March, so our grass is more of a burned yellow color right now. And the mud still lingers. The most memorable moments of today are not the kind of memories that solidify relationships. I was playing the keyboard, to try the height of the new seat I bought for it, when Megan came flying around the corner pointing her tiny finger at me, demanding, "Stop it, Mommy. Dat's eNOUGH, Mommy! Dat's eNOUGH!" Soon after that, she spilled my much needed and highly anticipated Diet Dr. Pepper all over the kitchen counter. That was before she tried eating a banana, peel and all, from the middle creating a mushy mess of her hands and face, and after she had ripped a packet of hot cocoa mix open, covering herself, her baby doll, and my favorite chair in the living room. Much of this she managed while clomping around in her sister's cowboy boots.

In the evening, she let out a scream that had me planning the fastest route to the emergency room, and when I got to her (she was intact, by the way), I found her cornering her older brother saying, "Dawin, NO NO HAVE IT THE BALL!!" For those of you who do not speak Megan, that means, "Jaron, no you cannot have the ball, you need to give it to me as soon as possible." So while I tried to think loving thoughts about the anniversary of her birth, mostly I was annoyed and hoping this was not a preview into the terrible two experience for our family. After showers and baths and fresh PJs for everyone, I was rocking her at bedtime. I was thinking about how I wished her birthday had gone a little bit differently when she let go of her blankie and reached up and pushed my wet hair away from my face and said, "Mommy pity." Translation: "Mommy is pretty." That was all I needed to decide her birthday was okay in the big scheme of things.

Investing in Valerie

2011-02-28T20:33:00.000-08:00

I never thought maintaining a healthy weight would be such a struggle for me in my adulthood. I don't remember if this is an original idea of my very own or if I read it somewhere, but I have thought for years that weight is like grade point average. It can quickly and easily stray from what we would consider to be ideal, and getting it back where it needs to be takes a lot of work and determination. And some sacrificed sleep. Tomorrow we will be kicking off a team weight loss competition at work, Spring Training. I have had several people approach me to do another challenge, but with our current patient load and the computer project we have going on right now, I was not sure I wanted to work it into my schedule. Recently, though, the tide was turned when I decided to step onto the scale and was shocked and dismayed by the reading glaring at me in big, red numbers. I mean, I want to help my coworkers, I do, but the bottom line is sometimes you have to look out for number one. I realized I needed this challenge as a final push to be successful and maintain my motivation. My baby will be two years old this weekend, and the time to focus on getting myself back into the most healthy person I can be has long passed. My primary focus has to get an attitude adjustment now. If you want to know the truth about things, I have been looking out for number one a lot so far in 2011. I think this could be my year. It was not really anything intentional, but looking back over the last few months I cannot deny that I have moved up on my own list of priorities.

It all started after Christmas when I came across my thumb ring from my teenage days. I loved that ring and wore it everywhere. It got too small...not that it actually decreased in size or anything...and I took it off. It has been in my drawer, completely forgotten, for a decade. I think sometimes that I get so wrapped up in the small, daily motherly decisions that I forget about the things that make me who I am. I feel like I try so hard to learn how to be a decent wife and mom that I forget that I was a person first. I was a person with confidence and interests and opinions and I loved rings. I took my thumb ring to the jeweler and had it re-sized, along with the ring Kevin got me when I graduated from college. I have worn them every day since then. I bought an elliptical machine. I have wanted one for years. I am taking a photography class. I went to the eye doctor and got new glasses. Don't worry, I am still in charge of menus and groceries and laundry and piano lessons and signing homework folders every night. I am not neglecting my people. I do love my people. I am just saying, do not overlook the importance of good, solid investments. And this year I am investing in Valerie.

About a Dog

2011-02-10T02:50:00.000-08:00

Poochie was born February 6, 1999 to a dog of questionable virtue named Tigger. We never knew for sure who her father was. When she was a very small puppy, she was bitten by another dog and had to get stitches in her neck. She then came to Kevin's parents' house to stay while she healed. Well, this was around the time of my midterms, and just before Kevin and I were married, so any time I spent at their house included my backpack and reading glasses. So this tiny ball of adorable black fur snuggled up on my lap with my textbooks and slept away her ailments as I studied. A few months later, after we were married, when we went back to collect Kevin's things and move to our farm house, we packed Poochie up right along with everything else and took her with us.

She was our first baby, and the first animal I have ever had to live in my home. We taught her to sit, shake, roll over, and say, "Please." It took forever for that last one, because she is not a dog who is overly prone to barking(which I love and appreciate). Kevin taught her to go look in the mirror when asked to "find the pretty puppy." If asked where her shadow was, she would run to put her nose against the wall as she tried to find it. She also gives hugs. By that I mean she puts a paw on each of my shoulders, and curls her head around my neck and gives a real hug, like she means it.

Long story short, Poochie is a brilliant and extraordinary dog. Over the years, when my toddler children pulled on her ears or legs, or hugged her a little too tightly, she merely gave me a dirty look, instead of retaliating. When my babies cried, she would come to me to make sure I had noticed, and she would stay at my feet until I fixed the problem. Now when they cry, she nuzzles their cheek. Mine, too. I am starting to prepare myself, and the kids, for the time when she will leave us. I have never been through this before. She was recently diagnosed with a cancer for which treatment would cause more damage than benefit to her. So I know it is coming. I know life will go on for our family, but while she is still here and relatively healthy I just wanted to say that Poochie is a brilliant and extraordinary dog. Coming from a childhood of hunting dogs and livestock, I never understood the depth of feelings some people had for their pets. I never knew the birthday of any of the animals from my childhood. I totally get it now, though. I get how a dog can be a huge and integral part of your family. Poochie has shared our home for twelve years. That is twelve years of Thanksgivings and Christmases and New Years and Independence Days and birthdays. And over the weekend she had one of those. Happy Birthday, Poochie Peavler...from your family.

As The Snow Flies

2011-02-01T21:19:00.000-08:00

I remember my Grandma Harvey, as she was canning vegetables in the peak of summer heat, saying, "This will sure taste good when the snow flies." I have been thinking a lot about summer lately. About how I will be sweating in the garden picking green beans and wishing for a breeze. Because these days, snow has been flying. Snow has been flying unlike anything I have ever seen. I decided that instead of thinking of how the endless snow is not conducive to my going to work and earning a paycheck, I wanted to remember all of the wonderful experiences that came along with the blizzard of 2011.

a warm fire burning
a child in my lap

books to read
phone calls to be sure loved ones are safe as the snow flies

a cup of hot cocoa
a well-stocked pantry

pink, fuzzy socks
an instrument to play as the snow flies

a snow tunnel adventure

a recipe for snow ice cream

games to play

yummy smells from baking as the snow flies.

a neighbor blading the driveway

a Disney movie on pay per view

snuggles beneath warm blankets

a family together, safe and warm, as the snow flies

Some Days

2011-01-28T10:42:00.000-08:00

I have always believed that someday I would have it all together. I was going to be the kind of person who kept everything tucked away in its place. I was going to be that super fun mom who basked in the adoration of her children every day. Those children would never go to school without finishing their homework or without their backpacks. I was going to adhere to my calendar/planner with reverence and be dependable and symmetrical and balanced...because I will just tell you that kind of thing makes me smile. I thought I would have all kinds of free time, and I would attend all of the events at school with my children lined up sweetly next to me in the bleachers.

When I was a kid, I thought it would happen upon entering adulthood. After my 18th birthday, I thought I would get it all together after I graduated from college and/or got started on my career. I thought surely after I was married, or after the babies were born...or maybe once we were finished with the diapers and food in their hair.

You know how Alan Jackson sings that sometimes someday never comes? I have finally realized that I am not going to be that girl. The one who is good at everything all the time. Someday may never come, but some days I do have it all together. Some days. But many days, I do not. Many days, if my family members have eaten something, washed themselves, brushed their teeth, and can sleep peacefully, I think that is all I need. Even if I left laundry on the couch or I forgot to send in their book order that day. Because some days I do have it all together. And tomorrow might be one of those days.

Let me count the ways.

2011-01-20T13:09:00.001-08:00

I don't write often enough about my work. When health care comes up in conversation, the discussion tends to center around dollars. Deductibles and insurance premiums and copayments and EOBs. I have been working in this field for more than eight years now. I don't know if I have ever mentioned before how much I love my job. I wonder if I appreciate that enough. I get up in the dark, get kids up and ready for their day, and go to my workplace most weekdays. It is not always easy. To leave them, I mean. I sometimes feel that by trying to be a good mom and employee that I am only average at everything. I wonder how I would survive this whole process if I did not love my job.

When I was in college, I reached the point in which I had to choose my specialty. I had taken all of the prerequisite courses and core sciences, and I could not go forward until I decided whether to go into nursing, teaching, business, or some type of therapy or leisure management. I loved the idea of cardiac rehab. All of my grandparents struggled with cardiac issues when I was younger, and I had an epiphany. Every patient that enters into cardiac rehab is someone's grandparent. Or maybe an aunt or uncle or sibling or spouse. You know that song by Brad Paisley? To the world you might be just another girl, but to me you are the world? These patients would be somebody's world, and I would treat them how I would treat my own grandparents. Or parents. You get the idea. So I chose cardiac rehab. I knew it was a field I would always be interested in, but I did not anticipate all of the ways I would be blessed by this career. Let me count the ways.

*I got to interview multiple applicants and choose the nurse I wanted to work with full time. I had a list of interview questions and qualities I wanted to find in my cardiac rehab nurse. Who gets to do that? So I went with my gut. I hired someone who I felt was qualified, dependable, and kind. Would you like to guess how that worked out for me? She has been working with me for five years now, and has become one of my best friends on the planet. I LOVE her! She gets all of my jokes and rarely makes fun of me for them.

*Most of my patients are wise. I get to collect advice from people who have been where I am right now. When I was considering baby #3, I was concerned the baby would take away from the older children. One of my ladies told me, "Oh, Honey, but think of the joy and love the new baby will bring to them!" They encourage me to forget the laundry in favor of playing outside, or to take more vacations, even if I have to pinch some pennies to get it accomplished. Oh, and they share recipes! Lots of them. They tell me things like, "Authority is like a bar of soap. The more you use it, the less you have left." They tell me, "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken much better care of myself!" Without exception, they tell me to spend more time with my children. I have been so inspired by the life lessons they bring with them that I have started an official notebook of quotes!

*I have banker's hours. I'm not going to lie about it. Nobody wants to come in and exercise in a hospital in the middle of the night, or on weekends or holidays...which means I don't work at those times! I offer 3 exercise days per week, but the program is flexible enough that I can move days around if I need to for my patients to be able to celebrate the holidays with their families. This means I get to be home for all of the really big holidays. I may not get summers off along with lengthy Christmas breaks like all my teacher buddies, but in the hospital setting, sticking to weekdays is pretty special!

*A patient spends three months in my program. That means I get to know them. That means I get to watch them go from struggling to make it to 7 minutes on the treadmill on the first day to walking 40 minutes without difficulty towards the end of things. That is one of my favorite things.

*I get to wear scrubs or exercise gear to work. Imagine enjoying your workday in the comfort of your pajamas, with a stethoscope hanging around your neck. That's me.

I am not saying things are always peace, love, and sunshine. We have had to fly patients out before. Sometimes we may have to load a patient up in a wheelchair and push him directly to the ER and call his wife to come and be with him. Piles of paperwork must be done, and classes and meetings must be attended. But most of the time, at the root of it all, somebody's world comes in to our program, and when they leave us they have improved. That's all I'm saying.

Piano Lessons

2011-01-11T04:12:00.000-08:00

I always wanted to learn how to play the piano. Not in a cry myself to sleep at night for years kind of way, but more in a wistful envious pang as I listened to others play kind of way. In a harassing people to teach me to play a song here and there kind of way. As I got older and into sports I realized there was little time for it. In the back of my mind, I always thought that someday I would have a daughter, and my daughter would take lessons. I always sort of planned on us learning together.

I never wanted to be one of those creepy mothers who forces unrealized dreams on her child when anyone can see the child cares little about those dreams. But when Madison started to mention learning to play, I decided this was our chance. I ordered an electric keyboard, with weighted keys and all kinds of intelligence, in time for Christmas and began my search for a teacher. A tingle of anxiety swept over me as she opened it on Christmas morning. Part of me was afraid I had read too much into her interest and it was more about me than her. As the wrapping paper was ripped away, her mouth dropped to form a perfect O, and she said, "OH! YOU DIDN'T!" Which in kid language translates into, "I can't believe you got me such an awesome present!" It was the first thing she told all of her family at all of the dinners and the first thing she mentioned to her friends at school when asked about the holidays. She was also quick to inform everyone about lessons beginning January 6.

Now I am beginning to wonder if I am really going to be able to do this. Teaching old dogs new tricks and all. I remember my grandad, a man who spent most of his life around horses, learning what equestrian meant. He was around eighty years old at the time. He said you never get too old to learn something. So Madison had her first lesson, and we did her homework together and have been practicing every day. She loves the keyboard. I love the keyboard. We are really going to do this.

The Big Picture

2011-01-01T06:54:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of each year, I usually have several boring resolutions bouncing around inside my head. Lose weight. Exercise every day. Save money. Make a point to scrapbook on a regular basis. You name the generic resolutions. I can assure you I have tried most of them.

This year, my only resolution is this: Focus on the big picture.

I am a big fan of Peter Walsh, the organizational expert. When he is helping a family, he always asks them to visualize the life they want to live. Then they should make decisions based upon that picture. This works well when organizing a home, but it can also work in daily life. I get reflective as I get accustomed to writing a different year on all of my paperwork each January. So I took some time to visualize my happy place. And then I made a commitment to ensure that my focus will be on that for the upcoming year. I will try to do the things that enhance that picture instead of wasting precious time with the things that can be deterrents. In my big picture, people matter. There is a sparkle in the eyes of my husband and children. Life is fun and peaceful at the same time. We are using the good dishes and wearing the good jewelry and enjoying each day as it comes. My big picture includes peace, love, and sunshine. Patience. Piano lessons, baseball, and a new basketball goal in the yard. It includes making sure all of the people who share their lives with me are glad they do. Time moves slowly, and smiles flash regularly. Stress, chaos, and raised voices are minimal. Small, daily irritations roll right off of my shoulders. Everyone is happy and healthy. That is what I resolve to strive for in 2011. I hope you have a big picture for your family, and I hope this new year is all you ever dreamed it would be!

My Best Christmas Ever

2010-12-29T07:51:00.001-08:00

This year marks the first Christmas since I have been a mother in which I had everything ready to go ahead of schedule. Usually, I get up in the dark on Christmas Eve to do Santa duty. While I am up, I wrap some last minute things. I have been known to put together the breakfast casserole, that I intended to make the day before, at this time as well. Last Christmas my house had the stomach flu. A year or two before that, I had bronchitis during Christmas. I remember a Christmas several years ago, before we had any savings, when we had several unexpected expenses just before the holidays. One of them was replacing the transmission in a vehicle. I remember sitting down and mapping out after which payday we could go Christmas shopping as I am generally opposed to credit cards. So we had about 6 days from payday to Christmas to go shopping, find gifts, and get everything wrapped. When it was all over, I felt as though I had been run over by a truck. As a kid I never thought holidays would be stressful, and I don't think they should be now. I have always loved Christmas, but I have not always been able to enjoy it like I hoped to.

With each passing year, I get a little better at planning ahead. I have to tell you, this year I think I nailed it. Everything was bought, wrapped, and assembled well in advance. I had a Ziploc bag in the closet for each of the kids with their stocking goodies ready to go weeks ahead of time. We did the school program. We did the church play. Everyone was blessedly healthy. When Christmas Eve arrived, the girls and I made cookies and cheese ball. Jaron went ice fishing with his dad. There was sledding. At night, we all slept. I got to see most of my favorite people in the world. And take pictures and video of them with my new Christmas gifts;). There were hugs. Video games were played and ringtones were exchanged. I think it was my best Christmas ever. I hope some of the people I shared it with can say the same!

The Tiniest Glimpse

2010-12-21T07:28:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, we paid our first visit to Colton's Steakhouse. It was the first time Megan used a booster seat at a restaurant instead of a high chair. My little family of five colored with crayons as we awaited our steak, shrimp, and chicken, and I kind of felt like it was a big deal. Life with a toddler is not predictable. They do not always cooperate with the best of plans. This particular night, though, Megan sat like a big girl and behaved beautifully. I felt like I was getting the tiniest glimpse into the next phase of our lives. The phase without the diaper bags or sippy cups. I thought it would make me more sad than it did. I thought that when my last baby started to outgrow babyhood I would dwell on that fact. I did not feel that way at all. Instead, I started considering some of the fun things I want to do as a family. Rafting and boating and Chiefs football and water parks. I love rocking Megan to sleep, and right now her head fits perfectly against my shoulder. I will miss that. I'm just saying that during my little glimpse into the future, I liked what I saw.

hunting is for girls

2010-11-16T11:46:00.000-08:00

I know there are a lot of girls who do not hunt. I have friends and family who do not mind if deer are hunted, they just don't want to be the ones to pull the trigger or field dress the animal. Well, I don't field dress the animal. Kevin does that for me. When I was in my blind over the past weekend, it was cold and windy. By the time darkness fell I was beyond ready to go home and warm up. But I loved it. I was thinking about all the reasons hunting is for girls, and decided maybe I needed to blog about it.

1. Rest. I use to hunt in a tree stand. I have come to enjoy the blind on the ground these days. You can really get comfortable in there. My gun was sitting on the table. I got to lounge in a bag chair with my feet up. I could see all the ditches surrounding my blind from the windows. Maybe I dozed a little. Nobody needed a single thing from me. For three hours. When is the last time that happened in your house?

2. Reflection. I love to listen and watch as the world goes by. I am not talking about horns honking and people shouting. I am talking about rustling leaves and tall, waving grass and geese in flight. I usually see deer, squirrels, and various birds. Sometimes I see a turkey or fox or coyote. I like to think about the people who may have crossed this field before me. Indians or pioneers who may have gathered around a fire there as their children played barefoot in the grass. I like to consider the way things may have looked then. Without powerlines and blacktops and fences dividing everything into segments. A mind can wander when left alone!

3. Accessories. I remember being out in the yard with my dad and brother once when someone stopped in the driveway for a few minutes. I have no memory of who it was, or what he discussed with my dad, but as he left, he said, "Well, I'll leave you and your boys alone now." My brother and I were wearing dark green coveralls and stocking hats. He thought I was a boy. Until recently, a girl had to look a lot like a boy to hunt, but have you seen hunting clothes for women lately? I got all new camo this year. It comes with pink or purple accents now. Instead of wearing man styles and sizes and looking like I am wearing my husband's pajamas into the woods, I now have Realtree camoflauge head to to, trimmed in pink, that is very obviously made for a girl.

4. The Hunting Bag. I don't know if boys do this, but I always take my hunting bag. I probably should not bring this up after my ramblings about becoming one with nature. However, here are the staples in my hunting bag: deer tags and heritage card, cell phone(set to vibrate, of course), mp3 player(in case nature is being too quiet for too long), hot hands, beverage(hot chocolate is my fave), snacks, lip gloss, extra ammunition, binoculars, extra blanket, digital camera. Pondering the ways of our ancestors does not mean I plan to live exactly as they did or anything. I like my conveniences.

5. The Guy I Married. Hunting always means spending time with my husband. He delivers me to my blind or tree stand and we meet up afterward. We discuss strategy and everything we saw and heard (or texts we may have gotten) during our hunt. Sometimes we hunt together throughout midday. It is something that has always been ours and I look forward to it.

6. Shooting Guns. I like to shoot guns. When I have a gun to my shoulder and my eye on the crosshair, I feel like I am ready for anything. I don't care if I am bringing down a big buck or hitting an orange dot on a paper target. When I fire a gun, and I hit my mark...it feels really good. Everybody should try it at least once.

So maybe you are a great white hunter, or maybe you don't think it is for you. I am just saying it could be your thing. Hunting can be a great thing for girls.

Just Like Me

2010-11-04T07:14:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about hunting has nothing to do with shooting a deer. When I go deer hunting, Kevin walks me to my blind or tree stand in total darkness before going off to his. I settle in as quietly as I can, close my eyes, and wait for sunrise. Everything is hushed and solemn and serene. Not silent, but hushed. In these moments it is easy to forget about laundry and dishes and trying to build up vacation time at work. There are no worries. There is only peace. And possibilities. And hope. Slowly the woods start to come to life, anticipating the dawn. Squirrels start to scurry from branch to branch. Birds start to chirp and sing. Turkeys gobble. Owls hoot. If you are in the right place, the deer slowly make their way to their feet, shake themselves off, and crunch through the fallen leaves to step out into range. I think most hunters will tell you similar versions of what they would consider to be the perfect hunt. For me, it would go something like this:

On October 30, 2010, Madison went on her very first deer hunt. Hunting is not something that happens spontaneously. Preparation is involved. Kevin is not one to take someone hunting before they are capable and ready, so Madison had practiced with her rifle, an AR 223, and proven herself to be accurate (by accurate I mean repeatedly hitting a target smaller than a baseball from 100 yards). Kevin and Madison worked together in the garage to build a table from plywood and 2X4s, and he asked his grandmother to sew up some denim so he could make sand bags. Now she would be able to have a sturdy place to rest her gun as she shot. Prior to opening morning, we set up the blind complete with the table, sand bags and seating, and everything was all set.

The morning of the hunt, we were all up by 5:30. We delivered the non-hunting kids to Grandma's house. We parked the truck and walked about 500 yards to our blind. We quietly took our seats and settled in to wait. Soon after we could see into the field of clover, a buck deer slowly approached our blind as he grazed. The angle out of our "window" was not exactly right, and we had to move Madison's table and her seat to let her get the best chance at a shot. Leaves rustled during this process, causing the deer to throw his head up and look in our direction more than once. Most deer, with more age and intelligence, would have ran away about three times in the 30 seconds it took us to get Madison adjusted. But he just stood there as Kevin asked, "Do you see him in the scope yet? Do you see him?" She said no a few times until the excited whisper, "Oh, Dad! I can see him!" He said, "You need to shoot him as soon as you are sure!" The words had barely escaped his mouth when she fired her gun. It was the exclamation point to his instruction. In his very next breath, he said, "Oh! Good shot, Madison!" Because that deer fell over like a sack of potatoes. We all but tore the door off of our blind getting out to go see him up close. And then there were pictures and high fives. And hugs. Madison and I are girls, after all. She ran all the way back to the truck at full speed. It was the perfect hunt. Big on antlers and excitement. Small on waiting and waiting to see anything, and small on suffering--for the deer. On my slower walk back to the truck, it became obvious to me that Madison is already irrevocably hooked on two things: hunting and her daddy. Just like me.

10-10-10

2010-10-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

To commemorate October 10, 2010, which happens to be my mom's birthday, I thought I would compile a list of the top ten reasons she should be celebrated. TOP 10 REASONS TO CELEBRATE MY MOM ON HER BIRTHDAY

10. Without my mom, my whole family would be nonexistent. I mean the whole tribe. My brother, sister, and I, and all the kiddos involved. That has to make the list.

9. She can break into song in any situation. It's not just that she can, but that she often does.

8. She believes in telling the truth and following the rules. The Golden Rule, and the ones that keep you out of jail.

7. She chose a profession for all the right reasons, and is building her career doing work that she loves.

6. Grandma Judy's house is my kids' favorite place to go.

5. I can tell her anything. No judgments.

4. She made a bucket list. And she crosses things off of it.

3. She loves my dad. A lot.

2. She can say anything...good, bad, or indifferent...in the kindest possible way.

1. She makes the most awesome pancake shapes. Alphabet, smiley faces, butterflies, and tractors.

the little girls' section

2010-10-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

Along with my sister, some of my favorite girls are moms of boys. Wistfulness drips from their voices when they talk about things from the little girls' section of the store...like Christmas dresses and hair bows and princess pajamas. I thought about those same things before my girls were born. I thought about everything from ruffles on baby socks to shopping for prom dresses and what I would give to my daughter on her wedding day. Girls can't help thinking about things like that. I have come to realize that sometimes daughters are more complicated than their accessories.

Last week, I was in the little girls' section of the store all right. I was looking at bras. Little cotton sports bras with spaghetti straps. I don't know if I can articulate what that moment feels like. Standing there, trying to choose Madison's first bras, it occurred to me that she is not going to be a little girl much longer. I rolled over the complexity of our gender as I was surrounded by Fruit of the Loom in shades of pink, gray, and white. I wondered how to teach my daughter that she can wear a bra and a dress and still be an athlete and hold up a slimy, stinky fish for a picture. I wondered how to shield her from vulnerability and contribute to a positive body image throughout her adolescent years. I wanted to be able to teach her how to balance family life and career. I want to teach her about enjoying life and fulfilling obligations at the same time. Until I remembered I have not figured all of that out for myself yet.

In most cases, nobody is harder on a wife and a mother than she is on herself. I put my own bar up beyond what I can reach most of the time. I don't want my Madison to feel like less of a woman sometimes because she has placed her bar too high. So sometimes the little girls' section of the store is full of giggles and various levels of adorable. But sometimes it makes me ache. I ache for all of the challenges of womanhood that she does not even know are yet to come. Like trying to shield and protect her daughter. And buying her first bra.

I don't have to tell you how much I love that!

2010-09-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

I know some people do not particularly enjoy the fall. Many people prefer the blooms of spring to the dying leaves that are starting to accumulate, but I love this time of year. I always have, and I always will. I do not mean that I think the fall is kind of cool. I mean I love the fall like I love to hear a baby laugh or smell freshly cut grass or snuggle my squeaky clean children in their pajamas at night. Like I love accessories that coordinate perfectly with outfits or pictures that say a thousand words. It puts a smile on my face to wake up in the morning with a slight chill in the air. I love fall like I love unexpectedly bumping into a beloved friend or finding a pair of expensive jeans in my size for ten bucks.

This season quickly and completely takes me to my happy place. I love opening up the windows and flooding the house with fresh air. The back-to-school routine finds my spirit filled with peace and contentment. The bulletin and white boards are back in use, backpacks are checked daily, and bedtimes are enforced...most of the time. This is the time of year when I feel like everything is as it should be. Summer is such a busy time of year for my family, and when life slows down just a bit for us, I notice. And I enjoy it. I can smell the potential that only comes from new beginnings. New school years and holidays and football seasons. Add that to our favorite team opening their season with an impressive showing on Monday Night Football...and a win! As I said, life is as it should be. Now, I know we are still officially finishing up the summer. I know when fall actually begins because it is Kevin's birthday. But between school and football and this glorious weather, it so already feels like fall right now! And I don't have to tell you how much I love that!

Viva Las Vegas!

2010-08-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

When we got married we said we would return to Las Vegas every five years or so. Well, five years went by like a holiday weekend, and in the meantime I had all but forgotten about those plans. I never even brought it up. I don't know if I have mentioned before that my husband is generally opposed to spending money in most situations. Relative to some of my purchases, he sometimes feels obligated to question the level of necessity involved. So Kevin came home from work one day and said, "I think we should go to Las Vegas." I laughed. I mean, usually when we take a trip, I plan everything and I calculate the cost and it usually takes some convincing. When Kevin mentions a trip involving airfare, hotel, and shows...the only explanation I can come up with is that he is joking with me. Except he wasn't. He began researching travel and airline websites. He chose the hotel we liked the most when we were there before. He planned this trip. My girlfriend said, "I think the fact that this is all his idea is just as big of a deal as the fact that you are going!" So true. I am not going to lie about it, I felt guilty for leaving the kids for five days. Excluding them from the fun and imposing on the family...almost like I should be hot lined. But after packing all of the bags and saying all of the goodbyes, the real excitement began to set in. I quickly reasoned that extra time with Grandma was hardly punishment for them and began to think about what this would mean for us. How strangely liberating it was to be able to travel and make decisions based solely on whatever we would like to do! We could eat anywhere without considering the kids' menu. We could be gone from our hotel all day without worrying about having enough diapers or extra changes of clothes. There were no worries about naptime or strollers.

We saw everything we could see. We saw the pirate show at Treasure Island and the dancing fountains at the Bellagio. We saw Criss Angel's "Believe" show up close and personal at the Luxor and went to Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay. We went on a tour of Hoover Dam. We visited Lake Mead. We shopped. We swam. We said hello to Pete Rose. The real person...not an impersonator. We ate when we were hungry, and we slept when we were tired. We talked about the things the kids would have enjoyed and the things they definitely would not have enjoyed. We walked a lot. We took the city bus and the monorail. We remembered our wedding trip and marvelled about all the changes that have taken place over the past decade. It was an awesome trip. Trust me, there are several scrapbook pages just waiting to happen right now.

Daddy Doesn't Read Books

2010-08-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

I keep a book in my purse almost all the time. I read when I am waiting at the doctor or dentist, the license bureau, and during lunchtime at work. Just this week, I read a book on the plane to and from Las Vegas and while waiting at the airport. I love to read books. Kevin does not. His faithful reading includes some news websites for serious Kansas City Chiefs fans. He checks those sites every single day without fail. He knows which KC players had the fastest running times...and who is wearing out their shoes with their quickness...and who caught how many balls in training camp...and who did not. Every day he knows this. However, he seldom reads a book.

Megan is starting to love books. I love how she seems to show preference and choose her favorite ones. Number one on the list is "Eight Silly Monkeys." She takes this book to everyone in the house, regardless of what they might be doing, and hands it to them over and over again until someone reads it to her. Madison and Jaron are usually close by and cooperative when she wants to read. They were outside one day when Megan discovered that Daddy will read to her as well. I was cooking in the kitchen when I heard Kevin say, "Megan, Daddy doesn't read books." Shortly after that I heard, "Eight silly monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and bumped his head." Well, this quickly became the pattern, and she was hooked. Now, when Daddy is in the house, she takes the book to him. He can be snoozing in his recliner, and she will climb up onto his lap, open the book, and wait expectantly for him to wake up and read. He always begins by saying, "Daddy doesn't read books." And then he does. The thing is, when our kids want a little bit of time with their daddy, he can't help but give it to them. It's one of my favorite things...the fact that Daddy does read books.

All She Ever Wanted

2010-08-01T20:25:00.000-07:00

This is the first picture taken of us as a married couple, outside of our wedding photos. I handed my camera to a stranger on top of the Stratosphere in Las Vegas the day after we got married. We have been married eleven years today. Our wedding was a compromise. He truly wanted to be married all by ourselves, such as at the courthouse. I wanted my grandma to make my wedding dress, and I wanted pictures. We both got our wishes. I got my other wish as well. You know, the one where you marry the person you love. The one where eleven years, two homes, and three kids later you still like each other most of the time. The girl in this picture had no idea what marriage would really be like. She thought she loved her new husband, but she had no idea that the sad times and scary moments would be the ones to strengthen their relationship the most. She had no idea how thoroughly bringing children into the world together could multiply her feelings for him. She had yet to hold his hand at a loved one's funeral or watch him approach her carrying their daughter, with both little arms encircling his neck and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She had yet to watch him playing baseball with the big kids in the yard after a long, hot day at work. The last eleven years have found her richly blessed with love, laughter, and family. I am confident those are all of the things the girl in this picture ever wanted.

I Like Him Handsome

2010-06-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

In one of my favorite books, New Moon, Stephenie Meyer gives us a beautiful description of Jacob. It has always stood out to me. She writes, "Jacob was simply a perpetually happy person, and he carried that happiness with him like an aura, sharing it with whoever was near him. Like an earthbound sun, whenever someone was within his gravitational pull, Jacob warmed them. It was natural, a part of who he was"(p. 145).

Every time I read that, I think about Jaron. Jaron is a perpetually happy person. His periods of discontent are rare and brief. I love that about his personality. His positive nature brightens and blesses our family on a regular basis. He is the kind of kid who brings home a gift for his sister when he gets to choose something out of the treasure box for his good behavior at school. He is the kind of kid who forgives in a heartbeat. He loves his family and is not too embarrassed to give out hugs and kisses. Yet. He loves transformers, Lego's, swimming, and ball games. He loves pancakes, chocolate, hamburgers, fish, and hushpuppies. He radiates happiness and contentment. He laughs easily. As much as he tries to be a serious big boy, he cannot hold back a smile. Ever.

Recently, my mom was cutting Jaron's hair when he was spending the night with her. She said, "I forgot to ask your mom how she wanted me to cut your hair." He said, "Handsome. She likes it handsome." I do like him handsome. But I also like him sweet, caring, and happy. I can't help but think he is going to be a good man someday. I can't help but think he will be a thoughtful husband and a devoted father someday. But today he is my favorite little boy who lights up when I walk into the room. And he is six years old. Happy Birthday, Jaron!

there's a good chance I have a problem

2010-06-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

I am a mostly rational person. I am not prone to random, crazy behavior. I will never bungee jump or pierce a part of myself covered by clothing. I have never tried any illegal drugs. I do not have any tattoos. I have been married almost eleven years to my junior high boyfriend. Almost every evening this month, I have been hauling my three children in my minivan to softball and tee ball games and eating cook shack hamburgers for supper. I have lived in one school district for my entire life, and I have been at the same job for seven and a half years. I have always rooted for the Atlanta Hornets, the St. Louis Cardinals, and the Kansas City Chiefs. All of these above behaviors make me feel like I am the epitome of normalcy. I don't mind that...although there are probably people out there that would equate normalcy with BORING.

So on one hand, I am this totally predictable soccer mom type with a pony tail. But on the other hand, I am totally and completely, over the top and embarrassingly, obsessively and compulsively in love with The Twilight Saga by Stephenie Meyer. As Eclipse is heading into theatres this week, I should confess that I have read the series, in its entirety, four times. In the last year and a half. Four times. There are very few books I have ever read more than once. There are no other books I have ever read four times. They are by far my all time favorites. I have convinced people to read these books against their better judgement. People who do not read fantasy or people who do not read in general. Every one of them loved the series. They thanked me later. I am not exactly sure how I can relate so thoroughly to this girl who is in love with a vampire, but I do. These books are not dark, freaky fantasies. The Twilight Saga is romance, morality, chivalry, and love overcoming obstacles. It is an imperfect girl finding love and her place in the world. There just happen to be vampires and wolves involved. So people say I am kind of a crazy fan. I don't think I am crazy just because of charms on my bracelet. Or because I know the movie release dates as soon as they go public and begin my countdown. Or because I am planning on taking a few vacation hours to see Eclipse on opening day. Or because in preparation for this movie, I read the book again, along with the new novella that accompanies it. And I watched Twilight and New Moon. Again. Or because, along with the first two soundtracks, my iPod already has the Eclipse soundtrack on it...and I can sing along. Or because of my new Collectors Edition People...

I guess maybe I can't help myself. So there's a good chance I have a problem. I might be crazy after all.

Happy Father's Day

2010-06-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

My dad has never been a very mushy kind of guy. He has never been the kind of guy who says, "I love you" every day. As a rule, he is not overly affectionate. Usually when puckered lips are coming his way, he sticks his cheek out to meet them. Even so, I have never wondered if he loved me. The thing about my dad is, he has always been more of a doer than a talker. So while he does not spend a lot of time professing his feelings for his favorite people on a regular basis, he does spend a lot of time loving them. I remember waking up as a teenager to my mom saying, "Your car had a flat tire this morning, but your dad fixed it." Before I was even out of bed, People. My oil was changed every three thousand miles, but I never looked at the mileage. He fixed whatever was broken. He still does that for me. He works on my vehicle when I need it. He patiently answers my mechanically challenged questions. Just recently he brought my dishwasher back to life. And to a working mom of three kids in the middle of baseball season--that's a pretty big deal. He is the most dependable person I know.

I could write about the best advice he has given me, or all the things he has fixed for me, or all the teeth he has pulled for me, or the time he took me for a spin on my first bike before I knew how to ride it. I really think it would take more than one post to cover it. I remember it all, and I am grateful. My favorite thing about my dad these days is the kind of Grandpa he is to my kids. He lights up when he sees them, even when they misbehave...or sometimes especially when they misbehave. They have learned quickly that they can depend on him, too. Among other things, they can depend on him for applause and the hide the pen game, chocolate treats, fireworks and fishing in the summer, good ham and cheese snacks, and rides in the tractor.

I hope someday my kids feel like they can count on me like I have always counted on my dad. So Happy Father's Day to the dads who tell their families they love them every day. And Happy Father's Day to dads like mine. The ones who show their families they love them by taking really good care of them, and the ones who become the kind of grandpa that every kid hopes to have.

because one blog just isn't enough anymore

2010-06-18T08:34:00.000-07:00

So I was the girl that hesitated to start my own blog. Because I was not sure anybody would care what I had to say. And I was nervous at the thought that maybe they would. Or that they may not agree or approve of my writing. A couple of years into blogging, I am still not sure if I entertain, inspire, uplift, or offend anybody. The biggest surprise is that I really like it. I like writing. I like sharing my opinions and getting things off my chest. I like knowing somebody is reading what I write. And I love being able to look back on forgotten moments with a fresh perspective and appreciation when I compare it to what life is like today.

So I decided to start another one. One blog just isn't enough anymore. I have been spending so much time with my new camera that I am finally starting to feel like a photographer instead of a girl who loves taking pictures. I have asked some family and close friends for some practice opportunities and they are coming up soon. I would like to introduce you to my photography blog. Feel free to provide feedback on pictures. I know I am not a professional and I want to improve and learn as much as I possibly can!

Moments Like That

2010-06-08T12:36:00.000-07:00

When my kids became old enough to participate in small musical productions, I may have had some unrealistic expectations. I envisioned things like angelic smiles to bookend flawless performances. And it bothered me when things did not go that way. Don’t get me wrong, because I have had moments like that. Where my throat tightens and my eyes sting and my heart just…aches with the beauty of it. I have also experienced the opposite of that. Like my kid, frozen like a deer in the headlights, too scared to utter a sound or move a muscle. Or my kid saying something inappropriate at the most silent moment possible. Or my kid trying to portray to me, via sign language, that the glitter from her dress is all over her--which looks more like “I might pee my pants” to me and everyone I have ever met in my entire life (aka the "audience"), when she should be singing with her classmates. I have learned to lower my expectations just a little. If they do a great job, I am excited. That's great. If not, nobody’s perfect. Life goes on, and we’ll be doing this again before long. There will be plenty of opportunity for redemption.

Jaron has never been much of a talker. He scored low on his kindergarten screening. I knew his score was more about him being too shy to talk to strangers, and less about his lack of knowledge, but I worried about him. I worried about him being scared of all of the new people and unfamiliar surroundings that came with going to big school. I worried they would underestimate his potential because he was too shy to let them know the answers in his head. I worried that his bashful nature would hold him back forever. That he would always struggle and lack the confidence to express himself. I wished I had done more to try to bring him out of his shell.

We had kindergarten graduation last week. The bleachers are packed for kindergarten graduation. The whole student body is in attendance. And parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. The little kindergartners come out, alone, as their name is called, to receive their diplomas. Then they perform. They sing songs with actions in front of almost everyone they know. And then they have individual awards with cake in the classroom. It's a big deal. My little boy? The one who has never been much of a talker? He had some big sighs between songs, but he sang his little heart out. He danced and performed all the actions at the appropriate time like a little rock star. My throat tightened. My eyes stung. And my heart just ached with the beauty of it. It ached a little more when the award he received in the classroom was the "Sharing Award." He is coming out of his shell all on his own. I think he is going to be just fine. I realized that he may have some big sighs along the way, but he will also sing big, dance big, and dream big. Which happens to be exactly what he was singing about. It was the perfect song for kindergarten graduation. While I don't expect every school program to be absolutely perfect anymore, I love it when that happens. I hope you have moments like that.

the first baby I ever watched be born

2010-05-28T08:06:00.000-07:00

This is the first baby I ever watched be born. I was seventeen. I remember a lot of things that are not really that important about the labor. Like Stan finally having the good sense to stop complaining about how much his thumb hurt when things started getting a little intense. I remember CMT (Country Music Television) on TV. I confessed my lack of enthusiasm for Dwight Yoakam...which somehow led to us singing lines from all of his songs we could think of. Not that Vanita participated in that. I was the coach. I took the classes with her and I had my coaching bag and instructions. I had a tennis ball in a sock to help with her back labor. I remember my sister, who was without good drugs, literally saying in the same breath, "I can't do this anymore!! Hello, Precious." And there was the first baby I ever watched be born. Everyone was so relieved and excited that it was over.

I abandoned my sister at that point to get acquainted with my nephew. Mom and I were watching him through the nursery window. I remember the hospital staff started surrounding Lance's little bed. I could barely see him because of all the hands covering him. I realized they were working on him and he was starting to look blue. Vanita was calling family and friends from her room to tell them the good news of his birth. She was talking about weight and length and the nurse was coming over to close the window blind so we could not see them working on the baby anymore. We went to get Stan. In the hallway, Mom told Stan they were working on our baby in the nursery. It did not register at first. He said, "Oh, they are working on a baby in there?" I can see her placing a hand on his arm, as she told him, again, "They are working on our baby." And he was gone to find out what was going on. We went back to Vanita's room. She felt like moms feel after giving birth. Exhausted. Sore. Relieved. Happy. Content. We did not say a word until Stan came back to let us know what was happening. He was the one who had to break the news. How do you say to a mother that her baby is fighting for his life down the hall?

Lance was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. They said a small percentage of babies with this condition survive. They said of the survivors, most children have learning and physical disabilities. And then they put him in a helicopter and he flew away, leaving a trail of tears behind him. Vanita went straight from the delivery room to a two-hour car ride to Columbia. His recovery was a difficult time for his parents. There was the NICU and the Ronald McDonald house and home health nurses when he got to come home. But God had big plans for Lance. He did survive. He has survived spinal meningitis and asthma and multiple injuries to date (he seems to be excessively accident prone). He gets good grades and he loves sports. He is the reason doctors should not bombard terrified families with sad statistics. He is the reason I learned that family matters more than state championships. And he is an eighth grade graduate. I am glad he is the kind of guy that beats the odds.

Dear Madison,

2010-05-14T07:13:00.001-07:00

Madison wrote a letter to me for Mother's Day.

Dear Mom,

Happy Mother's Day. I pledge to make Mother's Day special. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for loving me. I love you. You are always standing up for me. Thank you for cheering me up when I am sad. You are the best mom in the world. You are the best mom a child could have. I love you more than anything.

Love,

Madison

What more could I possibly need from life beyond letters like this one? Today is the anniversary of the day I became a mother. Not that long ago, I was snuggling this beautiful, tiny baby with lots of curly, black hair. And now she is eight years old. She loves baking, fishing, iCarly, and Big Time Rush. She is trying to decide if she wants to be an artist or a chef when she grows up. She loves to read and play outside. She loves her brother and sister with a loyalty that I treasure. I watch her developing her own tastes and opinions and interests and friendships. My excitement soars with hers and my feelings get hurt right along with hers. She clings to her daddy and I until the next moment inspires her to demonstrate her independence. The journey from one birthday to the next is bittersweet for a mom. At bedtime last night, Madison said, "Mom, you better say goodbye to seven-year-old Madison!" So I did. I asked her what she thought about being seven. She said, "It was pretty good, but you have to grow up sometime." I have always felt like this kid was wise beyond her years.

Dear Madison,

Happy Birthday. I pledge to make your birthday special. Thank you for helping me around the house and for keeping your room clean. Thank you for being such a kind and devoted big sister. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for cheering me up when I am sad. Thank you for always standing up for me. Thank you for always believing the best of me. You are a beautiful little girl, inside and out. You bring lots of love, caring, and spunk to our family. We all love you very much. I look forward to hearing what you have to say about being eight.

Love,

Mom

when losers become winners

2010-05-05T08:06:00.000-07:00

You may be on the right track, but you are going to get run over if you just sit there. -Unknown

I am just going to say it. Sometimes I do things for purely selfish reasons. I once bought my mom the latest Jodi Picoult novel for her birthday...and I fully intended on reading it as well. When I outgrew all of my pajamas as I carried Jaron, I generously got Kevin two new pairs of pajama pants. He did not actually get custody of them for a few more months. It is with this selfish attitude that I came to the decision to start up a Biggest Loser competition at work.

If you keep thinking about what you want to do or what you hope will happen, you don’t do it, and it won’t happen. -Joe DiMaggio
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When I started planning Megan's first birthday party, it occurred to me that my list of excuses for carrying around extra pounds was getting shorter. I didn't feel right anymore about telling the sales girl in the plus-sized section of Maurice's, "I just had a baby." I knew I needed motivation and competition and team members depending on me. I knew it would not be easy finding time to exercise. I knew it would not be easy to resist taking home pizza so I could spend more time catching up on housework and homework without having to fix dinner. I knew I would not be able to do it on my own, or I would have done it already.
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Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do. -John Wooden
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So we kicked off the Biggest Loser competition. We had 29 participants. There were five teams including the Bootie Busters, the Supa Slim Sistas (+ Eric), the Working Out Women (WOW), the Misfits, and the Meltaways. Everyone paid ten dollars to sign up. The winning team members would each receive $20 gift cards to Subway, and the winning individual would receive the remainder of the entry fee cash. So while being selfish is usually a pretty bad thing, there was some good to come from it this time. And as the competition unfolded, there were some interesting developments to add variety to my workday. And success that I could never have anticipated.

1.) I became a priest in the confessional booth. The only place I have seen this take place is on TV, so I am no expert, but this is the only way I can describe the way people confessed to me on weigh days. People whispered to me about eating too much dessert or eating out on the weekends, whether or not they made time to exercise, drinking high calorie alcoholic drinks, and the stages of their monthly cycles and levels of water retention. In the beginning, I had to read some name badges in order to sign a few people up, but by the end of these ten weeks I got to know people in a very personal way.

2.) Competition got fierce. People ran around the hospital passing out coupons for free Big Macs at McDonald's (to members of other teams, of course). At an employee retirement party, as a team member and I were taking care of the cake table, we may have tried to over serve the competition with big corner pieces with excess frosting. One of the dietary competitors started giving the stink eye to anyone on her team making bad food choices in the dining room.

3.) I did not win the title of The Biggest Loser. The girl with that title lost 34 pounds. I can tell you that my team, which happened to win the Subway cards, by the way, lost 105 pounds. And I can't wait any longer to tell you. In ten weeks, our group of 29 people lost 284 pounds. Two HUNDRED and eighty-four pounds! I expected other people to lose weight along with me, but I never dreamed everyone would be so successful!
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You never really lose until you stop trying. -Mike Ditka

I did lose weight. I lost seventeen pounds. I am officially back to my pre-pregnancy weight(*before Megan...I have more to lose to reach my pre-pregnancy weights before Jaron, and then before Madison;) and those are my next goals). I hated not being able to wear any of my regular clothes. I hated feeling like I had helplessly lost this battle. Plenty of weight has been lifted from me right along with the pounds that I walked away. My fat clothes are too big now, and the smaller sizes are getting more roomy all the time. I do have more weight that I want to lose, but when I compare the beginning of this challenge to right now, I feel better. I feel more energetic and capable. I feel like I matter more. Not because I look better and the number on the tag of my jeans is smaller, but because I am making my health and well-being a priority. I am making the health and well-being of my family a more important priority as well. I am absolutely doing the best that I can. I have watched Jamie Oliver's food revolution and listened to an awesome life coach and a motivating dietitian at a cardiac rehab conference and I am absolutely inspired. I am making almost everything from scratch. I no longer buy frozen pizza for busy weekends or Little Debbie snack cakes for the snack bucket. With only a few exceptions, I have given up pop and artificial sweeteners and caffeine. Yes, I have. Because losers can become winners. And it feels better than even a Diet Mountain Dew could ever taste.

Success is peace of mind in knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming. -John Wooden

Impresty

2010-05-03T07:06:00.000-07:00

I use to be a really good aunt. My mom and sister thought it might traumatize me, at fourteen, to be in the delivery room, so I was standing in the hall when my first nephew was born. I listened for his first cry. I will never forget it. As a toddler, when Logan thought something was impressive, he would say it was "impresty." Now he says, "Sweet." When he first started talking, I taught him that when asked who loves Logan, he should answer, "Aunt Val." I was a really good aunt. I remember reading him books, going fishing, playing ball outside, going to his little baseball games, and taking his werewolf picture at his Halloween parade. I fixed him his favorite snacks. I remember calling my sister to bring him over on the weekends and then casting frequent glances out the window as I wondered what in the world could be taking her so long to get there.

As he got older, I got older. I got a job and got married and had kids. My kids started having ball games and programs and Halloween parades. Now Logan fishes, hunts, drives trucks and tractors, and brings us loads of firewood in the winter. And I don't feel like I am such a great aunt anymore. He still hugs me on occasion, but I can't pick him up anymore. He has been taller than me for a long time. I don't think I was paying enough attention. Somehow when I was changing diapers and going on preschool field trips my nephew became a young man. A handsome young man, as you can see from this picture from the grand march. Yes, he is old enough to go to prom. I still get to see him at all of our family gatherings, but not as often as I once did. I hope he always knows his Aunt Val loves him. And I think he is impresty.

Longing

2010-04-21T06:05:00.000-07:00

Last week I visited an Amish greenhouse. Twice. I went with Kevin one evening during the week, and we were so impressed I had to share it with some friends and my mom again on Saturday. I got some plants for the garden and some flowers to set out. Then I got some more flowers to set out. When I leave the Amish people, it is always with a longing for a simpler life. I said "simple." I did not say "easy." I am not so naive that I think their lives are easy. I may not know how difficult their lives are with their lack of modern conveniences, but I do know a little bit about some of the things they do. And I am not scared of those things. I mean, while we do have an electric saw and grinder, we butcher our own beef and pork at home. For the past few years we have raised chickens to dress for the freezer. And then there is the garden. I can tomatoes and potatoes and green beans. We make salsa and sour kraut. We freeze corn and peppers. It is a lot of work, but I always feel glad when it is done.
I love working together to be productive. The whole family is involved in planting the garden. When we butcher, Kevin does the jobs involving cutting and causing live things to be dead. I do more of the wrapping and labelling type jobs. Jaron helps me tape packages for the freezer, or hands me things, and Madison has become expert label writer (If a package winds up saying T-bone Stake, you still know what is in there!). I love the warm security that comes from looking into our freezer and pantry and not having to worry about what to feed my family. It is a blessing that counts.

When I think about myself trying to survive in the past, or living as the Amish do, I realize there are things I would definitely miss. I would miss phones. I would miss vehicles and electricity and iPods and Internet. I would miss air conditioning. I would miss birth control options. I am not going to lie about it. And I would miss pants. A lot. I am sure there are many other things I am failing to mention, but regardless of them all, I have to admit there are a few things I long for that I think they are getting right.

Like how they have work that is conducive to their family life. Next to this wonderful and productive greenhouse, a swing was swaying in the breeze. There was an adjacent sandbox with toys and shovels poking out of it. A little boy ran away and came back with a young chicken to show to Megan, and she patted its little head and squealed with delight, bringing a dimpled smile to the boy's adorably freckled face. I mean, these people don't drop their babies off at a sitter and drive off to work five days a week. I visited with the young mother who lived there. She was fascinated with my children and their ages. Her children were close in age to mine. Although she had seven children, total. She marveled at how "steady on her feet" Megan is. What impressed me was the fact that instead of her being inside pulling her hair out, elbow deep in housework, she was working in the greenhouse on a Saturday with the children scattered about. She had a smile on her face and mud on her shoes. She was the most friendly and talkative Amish woman I have ever met. I wanted to pull her aside and ask her about all of her secrets and challenges. I wanted her to teach me how to be more like her. With regular hot showers. And my favorite shows recorded on my DVR. And snuggle time with my kids at night, which feels like the softest pajamas and smells of lavender baby wash and Gain--Mango Tango laundry detergent. It could happen.

Doing Easter Right

2010-04-13T11:39:00.000-07:00

This year still feels relatively new to me. I feel like all the things I wanted to do remain within my reach and I am trying hard to grab them. I am trying hard to live better. Period. Traditions tend to take me to my happy place. I love them. We have an Easter Egg Hunt we always attend, but this year I was feeling more festive than that. Not only did I decide that one Easter egg hunt was not enough, I decided that 3 kids were not enough to take along. So this year, I got my niece, Molly, Madison's friend, Zoe, Madison, Jaron, and Megan, and we started our Saturday at 11:00 with the Church WOW (WithOut Walls). They worked hard to provide us with an age appropriate Easter lesson, a 5000 egg hunt, prizes, and hot dogs for dinner. Let me tell you, there were lots of chattering, squealing, and happy kids over there. My mom came for the festivities as well, and Grandma Time always cranks up the funometer for my guys.

The kids got out their gloves and played some catch at home afterwards while I fed Megan her lunch(as I have yet to feed her hot dogs). The sunshine was beautiful. Soon it was time to load up again and head to Elmer at 2:00. Elmer always has the Easter Bunny. And the other Grandma. Megan slept through it all last year, and while she may not have loved the bunny, she did not miss a moment. We capped off the weekend on Sunday with Sunrise Service at 6:00 am. The kids were sleepy and snuggly and I did not even have to remind them to be still or quiet. We spent the rest of our Sunday playing outside and cooking on the grill...Oh! And we had a wonderful nap! I just had to blog it out before I forgot what an awesome weekend that was. I had many things I needed to be working on around home, but they waited for me. This year I think we did Easter right!

Backslidden

2010-04-12T12:10:00.000-07:00

A friend told me the summer that I was baptized that I should journal about the experience. She told me that your relationship with God is like your relationship with all of the important people in your life. Sometimes you are in perfect harmony and sometimes you drift apart. And there are many areas in between. I was all, "Whatever, Crazy Lady! No turning back!" I valued her wisdom, but I was going to be different so it did not apply to me.

Somewhere about mid-pregnancy with Megan I stopped going most places other than work. That included church. I was exhausted and I looked even worse than I felt. The more Sundays you spend at home...the more easily the decision is made to continue doing it. Staying close to home for a few months somehow ended up lasting over a year and a half. I recently decided to stop making excuses and adjust my priorities. Finding a church to attend in a small community is not always easy. I know I shouldn't, but I find myself thinking about what a church can do for me and my growth instead of considering what I might be able to do for a church. So, long story short, I decided to commit to our tiny church. Again. That was about a month and a half ago. The kids are enjoying their classes and they do a memory verse each week. There are puppets. Madison was presented with a Bible for her faithful Sunday School attendance, and Jaron will soon follow. That wise friend I mentioned before? She was right. Making time for God is not always easy. Church attendance is like GPA. It is so much easier to let it slide than take the initiative and bring it back up! Easter's Sunrise service came early. I couldn't help but wonder if my new commitment really counted at 6am when there were three hairdo's to fix. I decided it did.

As Kevin and I sat in the pew with our sleepy children's heads on our shoulders, I let the peace and contentment wash over me. I thought about everything that matters. I was glad I decided my commitment mattered. Again.

Published

2010-03-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

About once a year my boss' boss asks me to write an article for the local newspaper. OK, the call actually comes from my boss' boss' secretary. The hospital has a monthly column and the CEO chooses the authors he would like to fill it. I have written four of these articles previously, and each one reads like a research paper. Facts and statistics and diagnosis qualifications and phone numbers. They are articles that make me yawn, but in my little mind that is what "news" is. Facts and figures. My mom is not into numbers, but I usually saved a copy for her anyway. Just the very mention of the word "published" lights her up. This time I decided to do something different. I decided to be more personal. Partially because they only gave me a few days notice that my article had to be moved up a month to trade with someone, and partially because I think blogging is building my confidence as a writer and maybe I feel like I have my own ideas without having to constantly reference someone else. And Lord knows I always have 500 words to say. So, here goes:

Seven years ago, Pershing Memorial Hospital was faced with a decision. The cardiac rehab program could no longer be located in the Marceline facility. Hospital administrators had to decide whether to close the program or attempt to relocate. Thankfully the hospital chose to maintain its commitment to the community and continue providing cardiac rehab. The decision was made to move the program to Brookfield, to the west lobby of the hospital. Patients were able to get the care they needed without having to travel far from home. Directly following the move to Brookfield, I came to work for the hospital to coordinate the cardiac rehab program. Over time we were able to work with the respiratory department to initiate a pulmonary rehab program as well. We hoped to reach even more community members by providing this additional service locally.

Cardiac and pulmonary rehab involves supervised and monitored medical care that uses exercise and education to help people with cardiovascular and pulmonary illnesses. Anyone who has suffered from heart attack, angina, bypass surgery, stent placement, heart valve repair/replacement, or heart transplant is eligible for cardiac rehab. Candidates for the pulmonary program can include anyone whose activities are limited by lung disease and shortness of breath. Participants receive individual treatment plans to accommodate their specific goals. Monitored activity, along with support from patients with similar backgrounds, provides an experience that cannot be duplicated in your average gym.

Three years after our move to the west lobby, the hospital was on the brink of an exciting building renovation plan. The cardiac and pulmonary rehab programs were facing a new dilemma. Once again the programs would have to move or be closed. The programs were located where the new building was to be attached to the existing hospital. Between the continued commitment to community and a generous donation by Jessie Fay and Clifford Applegate, the hospital was able to purchase the Applegate Medical Building. The Applegate Medical Building was only a temporary location to help patients while we anticipated the completion of the hospital building project, but cardiac and pulmonary rehab remained intact.

Another three years went by until last February, when we completed our third and final move in time for Pershing Health System’s grand opening. You may be familiar with the new hospital lobby and all of the brand new departments and equipment that came with the building project. You may not realize that across the hospital you will find cardiac and pulmonary rehab. What was formerly the x-ray area has been completely renovated. The new, improved facility, with nearby patient parking, is the perfect location for our patients. The spacious exercise room offers a variety of exercise equipment, and we are within close proximity to ample medical personnel in case of emergencies. Our exercise physiologist and registered nurse supervise patient exercise sessions and provide education as needed.

I would like to thank all of our patients. Thank you for your gracious understanding and adaptability throughout our relocations over the years. I want you to know we have no intention of packing up our equipment again! Rest assured that cardiac and pulmonary rehab are here to stay.

all I have to say about that

2010-03-23T07:29:00.000-07:00

These pictures were taken in my yard on the last day of winter. I barbequed while the kids played outside. It was beautiful. Beautiful sunshine. Beautiful smiles. Beautiful laughter drifting on the breeze.

This picture was taken the very next day, which happened to be the first day of spring. Jaron said, "You know when it's so, so hot and the leaves come out? That's what I want!" I agreed. That's really all I have to say about that.

Going Green

2010-03-17T12:50:00.000-07:00

Last year I totally forgot about St. Patrick's Day. I was barely home from the hospital with Megan. I was sleep deprived and sore...and, well, I was a horrible mother. So little first grade Madison went to school without wearing green. Her cousin, Molly, gave her a headband or something, and Grandma Judy came through with a green necklace for her and saved the day. But I was a horrible mother. Madison, my mom, and Madison's teacher (who happened to be a childhood buddy of mine) all knew it. I felt like everyone at school would take one look at her and see how I had failed her and neglected her. I vowed to be better. Isn't that what we do? Isn't life just one continuous attempt to be better and do better?

So this year I was ready. It feels so much better to add to life's small pleasures instead of adding to life's little disappointments. I bought beads. I laid out their clothes the night before. My kids went to school today sporting green shirts AND pants AND necklaces. Jaron was topped off with a John Deere hat and Madison had a sparkly green hair accessory. Because I am an AWESOME mom. And everybody knows it!

TOOT, TOOT

2010-03-16T13:09:00.000-07:00

I am not trying to toot my own horn. I feel compelled to blog about this because I have never been a glass half empty girl. I blog about things that are on the negative side sometimes. My faithful readers may remember my posts on things you should consider NOT saying to a pregnant woman and the diary of a mad fat woman. The moral of both stories is that I am not naturally thin, pregnancy and I do not get along, and many people have noticed and made hurtful and appallingly unintelligent comments about those facts.

Because I try not to dwell on the negative, I must share with you that today I have had four different coworkers comment to me that I am looking slimmer these days. I say four because I do not want you to be confused when I say a couple or a few...it was actually four. I started a biggest loser challenge at work for my own selfish reasons. I knew I needed the motivation to finally lose this weight. 28 employees signed up right along with me, and collectively we have lost over 150 pounds in 5 weeks. My team, the Supa Slim Sistas (+Eric), has lost over 75 pounds. So, I have been working out with cardio and weights and yoga and counting calories and Just Dancing with the kids on the Wii(The laughing from watching Jaron's dance moves alone is enough to burn some calories, I assure you!). I have lost 13 pounds and people are starting to notice! I cannot tell you how much more fun it is this way than the previously mentioned posts. So I do not work exclusively with over educated idiots, but share my workplace with many perceptive and intelligent people! Like I said, if I am going to complain about the mistreatment I have endured then I absolutely must mention the good stuff. And, well...TOOT-TOOT!

Before I was a Mother

2010-03-16T06:37:00.001-07:00

Before I was a mother, I said, "I just don't understand
why people bribe their children to do what they command."

Before I was a mother, I said, "My kids won't watch TV
to occupy the precious time they should be spending with me."

Before I was a mother, I said, "I will not raise my voice."
I said, "When it comes to dinner, there will never be a choice."

Before I was a mother, I said, "Some moms are way too sappy!
When my kids do great things, I will be nothing but happy!"

Before I was a mother, I said, "Every day I will say, 'I love you.'"

That may be the only thing I ever said about motherhood that stayed true.

Jaron will do anything I ask of him for a chocolate candy bar.
I may have yelled a little this morning as I loaded kids up in the car.

During just one episode of Dora, I can get mountains of housework done!
Sometimes I do make two kinds of dinner, when I swore I would only make one.

Sappy could be my middle name, as often as I am moved to tears.
I have cried for reasons I don't always understand in recent years.

Tears of joy and fear and always when they do great things to make me proud.
So now when I think of life I've yet to live, I don't voice my opinions out loud.

the blue in me

2010-03-11T07:33:00.001-08:00

There was a time when March Madness was important to me. There was a time when Hornet Basketball was on my short list of priorities. Basketball is not a big part of our lives right now. At this stage, March is all about celebrating our baby's birthday. As far as sports go in our family, March is a time to scout for new football players for our team. My husband sets the DVR to record the college combines while he is gone to work so he can study the athletes in the evenings. He spends any TV time on the NFL channel. While I am confessing his addiction, I may as well tell you that he also he pores over http://www.arrowheadpride.com/ every night. And not just leading up to the draft but pretty much all year round. So, usually there is not much talk of basketball around my house yet.

This morning Jaron wanted to wear his Atlanta shirt. I noticed Megan's hornet shirt in the top of her drawer and could not pass up the opportunity to dress all three kids to match. Of course, since all of my kids matched, I could not pass up the opportunity to take their picture. Somehow this photo just floods my mind with memories. It makes me think of Hornet Pride and March Madness and work and sweat and tears and friends and hugs. What can I say? Maybe March brings out the blue in me after all.

A year goes by THAT fast!

2010-03-04T03:14:00.000-08:00

A year ago, this day began at Boone Hospital with contractions coming every five minutes. They were not the kind of contractions that made me wonder what was going wrong because they just had to be more brutal than most women's. They were not the kind that made me wonder how I would survive what was coming next. I did feel compelled to close my eyes, place both hands on my tightening, super sized abdomen, and breathe deeply and slowly until it was over. They were significant enough for me to mark the passage of time by the minutes of rest I got between them. By the time I had convinced the nurse that my water had broken(actually she never did believe me but she tested to be sure...she kept telling me I had peed the bed!), and we determined the baby was definitely coming on this day, Kevin was already almost to Hannibal on his way to work. We thought I was going to be in bed watching TV for another week and we did not feel like I needed help doing that. My mom would have been with me, but we both knew it would help me most if she had the big kids with her so I would know they were in good hands, and she and Dad could bring them to meet their much anticipated baby sister. My sister was sick with a bad cold and was not coming to the hospital at all, in the best interest of the baby. So I was in labor. I was alone. I was a little scared. But my body was in such a state of misery I would have gladly rolled into the operating room by myself. I had reached the point where I was confident my baby would be safer out in the real world where we could monitor her more closely. My doctor said she could do my surgery at 8:00 am or at noon, and since Megan was not in distress, and Kevin was so far away, she opted for noon.

Nothing compares to the feeling a mother gets when she hears her baby cry for the first time. With a c-section, you have to listen for it to know the baby is doing okay. You cannot see your baby because of the drapes so all you can do is listen. It took longer than it normally would to hear Megan cry, and when I finally did, she sounded so much more quiet than Madison and Jaron had. I knew something didn't sound right. Kevin let me know it was because she was on oxygen. By the time they had weighed her and finished up with her apgars and everything, she was already done with the oxygen, and all 6 pounds, 2 ounces of her was crying at a very ticked off high volume! I was elated. She was tiny. She was precious. She was perfect.

A year ago today, my family became complete. Madison thought she could just take over Megan's care all by herself, and she would have. She loved her more than I thought possible. I worried about Jaron a little. He was freaked out by the hospital and did not want to come close to me or talk to me on the phone with all of my machines and everything "plugged in to me." But soon after we were home I realized he loved Megan just as much. I don't think he thought she would be quite that tiny. My life became hectic in ways I could never imagine or anticipate. My mom told me motherhood is like juggling, and you can't always keep all of the balls in the air. You have to drop the ones that don't matter. I have learned a lot over this year about letting a ball drop. About which balls don't matter. I have learned a lot about flexibility and being satisfied with doing my best, although my best often leaves many things undone. Because Madison was barely two when I had Jaron, I never felt like I got to enjoy him enough when he was a tiny baby. I am confident I have enjoyed my Megan. We all have. When she wants to play, someone jumps in to play with her. When she gets hungry, someone feeds her. When she gets sleepy, someone is always there to rock her. Her diapers are always changed promptly because I know if I don't do it, one of my "helpers" might and that could get ugly! We have enjoyed our baby. I think she has enjoyed us, too.

Megan has learned a lot this year as well. She is walking. If you ask her if it is snowing, she points at the window. If you say, "Oh, no, you didn't!" she shakes her head back and forth and shows some attitude. She says "Mama" and "Dada" and "tattoo"(thank you) and "bye-bye" and "kiss." When you call for her brother or sister she stops what she is doing and swivels her little head back and forth as fast as she can, looking for them to come into the room. She waves bye-bye and claps for patty cake and yay and she holds up a finger when you talk about how she is one! She eats anything I put in her mouth and acts like it is her favorite food. She has mastered the sippy cup and is off of the bottle. She never wears socks and shoes any longer than it takes her to get them off of her little feet. She gives many kisses and hugs to all of her favorite people every day. She cracks herself up a lot. She cracks us all up a lot. Our grand finale baby has brought immeasurable joy into our family. Happy Birthday, Megan Joleen! I don't know what we ever did without you. May all of your birthdays find you as happy as this one, with countless beautiful smiles and an abundance of hugs and kisses!

Inadequacy

2010-02-25T08:50:00.000-08:00

This is the worst gingerbread house ever. Completed a good month after the holidays. Things kept coming up like the stomach flu and ear infections, and, well, gingerbread people need a place to live all year round, don't they? The roof was broken in many peices so we turned it into a patio. And it sort of went downhill from there. It looked nothing like the picture on the box when we were done with it. This gingerbread house is just one tiny reminder of many things that make me feel inadequate. There is a song from Grey's Anatomy that says, "Miss Almost, Miss Maybe, Miss Halfway." Sometimes, in moments of exhausted surrender, I feel like Anya Marina is singing about me.

The hardest thing for me about having a job that I have to go to on a regular basis is this overwhelming feeling of inadequacy. It is always creeping in, like a dense fog, and I am always trying to push it back so I can breathe. As jobs go, mine is flexible. Three days a week, I have patients coming in to be monitored as they exercise. Those are the days I try my best not to miss work. It is stressful for my nurse, who happens to be one of my best friends, to be left in the lurch on those days. She handles it well and never complains, but I try hard not to put her in that situation if I can help it. The remaining two office days are easily negotiable. These are the days I try to schedule things such as haircuts, dentists, doctors, class mom duties, and groceries. Of course, life does not always come in a neat little package wrapped up with a bow like that. There are many factors that do not always adhere to my schedule. The snow buries my van in the driveway or the ice makes the curves and hills of my crazy blacktop too treacherous to attempt the drive with my precious cargo. Kids throw up or spike a fever. Kevin gets an injection in his back. Sometimes there are places I feel like I need to be more than I need to be at work.

Sometimes I feel like I have a thousand strings tied all over my body and the only direction I can go is toward the string that is pulling me the hardest. When I do miss a work day for unexpected reasons, I feel inadequate at my job. I feel guilty for placing the extra burden on my nurse. I don't want my patients to consider me to be unreliable. When I forget to send the dollar so Madison can buy a drink at her class party at school that day, I feel inadequate as a mother. Or when the kids mention whose mom was at the class party. Sometimes I take kids to Grandma's house when they are sick instead of staying home with them myself...if it is a patient day at work. How wrong is that?

I am gone most days. As with most families, the evening shuffle includes dinner, dishes, laundry, homework, bath time, and bedtime(which includes quality time rocking a baby). Add to this the fact that the wood stove needs wood in it and the cows need checked as we had our first calf this week. Kevin has been having some bad days with his back so I am the one in the gum boots and snow, both up to my knees. He has been cooking some to balance things out, but all of this adds to more feelings of inadequacy as housework piles up and people are pulling their clothes out of laundry baskets instead of their dresser drawers. When I considered what I wanted to be when I grew up, I am confident that I never said I wanted to be half of a mom and half of a wife or half of an employee and a partial homemaker. I just wanted to be a wife and a mother and to work in a job that I enjoy and that helped people in some way.

I am a wife and I am a mother. I do like my job and I almost always feel like I am making a difference with my patients. But in trying to encompass every facet of my life to make me the person I want to be, I feel like most of the time I am inadequate on every side. Like I am doing everything half way so I cannot do a good job at anything. I see women who never miss work. I see women who never miss a function at school. I see women with immaculate homes. I do not see any of those women when I look in the mirror. I see a woman who loves her family. I see a woman who likes her job and feels abundantly blessed. Mostly I see a woman who has a long way to go in figuring the rest out.

Happy Birthday, Tabitha!

2010-02-23T09:56:00.000-08:00

I consider a lifelong friend among life's greatest blessings. I am a person who thrives on the familiar. I have lived within a twenty mile radius my whole life. College years included. I married my junior high boyfriend. I have been working in the same job for seven years. I get excited about planning things out. When one of those plans works out like I imagined it would...it makes me happy in an almost unnatural and juvenile kind of way, like when a kid gets to have cake and ice cream for breakfast or something. I like to try new experiences, but when I am my most content and satisfied with my life, I am surrounded by the familiar. Every time. That is why I treasure my lifelong friends.

Take my friend, Tabitha, for instance. There is not a time in my life when I did not know her. Our first meetings were in diapers. There is very little we do not know about one another. I love that. For many reasons. I didn't have to explain the milestone event that was my taking a group of girls to the Princesses on Ice at the Sprint Center in Kansas City a couple of years back. She knew I had never even driven alone in Columbia until my doctor visits with Madison's pregnancy required it. She got it. And she was appropriately proud and encouraging. I don't have to tell her what wonderful and caring people my grandparents were. She knew them. And once in a while, she tells me. She knows the significance of LYLAS and blue shoes and Hoosiers and A League of Their Own. She was enlightened, as I was, that hindsight is 20/20 and some people don't know the difference between their butts and a hole in the ground. And of course she knows rule #3 in the Handbook of Life, "Life is not fair." She does not give me a strange look for saying things like, "I hear talking!" or "Riiiiiiiight" and she knows all of the songs that I know. And doesn't make fun of the ones I don't. We were born when we were born, people! There is a very significant and extended time in my life where you would be hard pressed to find any photos of one of us without the other. Because we were always together. Together we have worked, played, laughed, cried, prayed, yelled, sang...and it is not over yet. She is a lifelong friend.

I appreciate how she gets me, but I love how I get her, too. For instance, I am proud of the strong woman of faith she has become. I am not surprised, but I am proud. After all, I was there when she invited me to revival, and when she led our team in prayer before every game. Her beauty never surprises me, either. Or when I see her dazzling smile reflected in her sweet boys. After all, I watched her compete in Miss Missouri. I have always known it was there. When I look at her hard work and dedication to her family and her community, I am like a proud mama. But I am not surprised about that, either. After all, I was there at camp after camp and tournament after tournament and open gym after open gym where we learned all about hard work and dedication and commitment to each other and to our goals.

Somewhere along the way we stopped talking about sports, teachers, clothes, and boyfriends and started talking about husbands, potty training, doctor visits, low cal snacks and black coffee. I look forward to whatever we will be discussing next. As I think about Tabitha on her birthday, I know she has become the kind of wife and mother and friend that can really set an example for us all. She impresses me on a regular basis. Sometimes I seriously get the urge to get out a pen and paper and take notes. After all of the time I have known her, she inspires me that much. I am thankful for my forever friend. I am glad our children know each other. I hope they all grow up with lifelong friends that are as loving and loyal as mine! Happy Birthday, Tabitha! You will have to let me know what 32 feels like!

The Long Winter

2010-02-14T18:39:00.000-08:00

I may have already mentioned that my mom use to read the Little House books to us every summer. She probably read to us during the other seasons, and she probably read to us in the house. But in my memory we are on a glider on the back porch of the town house. I hear her reading voice, which has always been fabulous, and I feel the dry breeze tickling my neck with stray hairs that have escaped from my pony tail.

The Long Winter was a perfect summer book to read. Howling blizzards and homes covered by snow sounds almost refreshing during those blazing and sticky days. I have been thinking about Megan's first year as we approach her birthday. I think I will remember her first winter as the long winter. The winter the stomach flu touched our entire family over the holidays...and hit the boys again shortly after. The winter Megan and I had to have two rounds of antibiotics to kick crazy ear infections. The winter Kevin broke his finger. The winter most of our free time was spent together at home. The winter there was snow aplenty for snow days and hot chocolate and homemade soups. And the winter I got to stay home from work on occasion and pretend that I was a stay-at-home mom. There is nothing more cozy and content than being snuggled up with your favorite people with nowhere to go while the snow comes down outside. And, seriously, this winter I have seen numerous breathtakingly beautiful snow scenes without leaving my yard. But I miss the sun. I am ready to trade the smell of firewood for the smell of freshly cut grass. I am ready to put the coats away and put on some flip flops. I am ready to trade lip gloss for sun block. Well, I am keeping the lip gloss, but you get the idea. I want to feel the sunshine on my shoulders and watch the big kids ride their bikes and teach Megan more about the outside world.

We are not in danger of starving to death. We have meat in the freezer and canned goods lining the pantry. We do not have to spend all day melting snow for water and braiding hay for hay sticks to burn in the fire just to survive. We do not have to insist on someone selling us essentials against their will to make it through. We have doctors and medicine and stores in abundance. And we have play time. We have everything we need.

Laura Ingalls Wilder ended The Long Winter by writing, "And as they sang, the fear and the suffering of the long winter seemed to rise like a dark cloud and float away on the music. Spring had come. The sun was shining warm, the winds were soft, and the grass was growing." All that I am saying is that when spring gets here this year, I just may have to sing a song of my own!

Their Boxes are Their Boxes

2010-02-12T09:45:00.000-08:00

I am sure there are mothers who devote significant time and energy to projects like the Valentine's Day box. Accross America these moms probably have a shelf in the supply closet devoted to projects such as this. Those shelves are probably full of things like glitter and glue and string and felt and paint and pipe cleaners. At my house, project materials come from the kitchen or the scrapbook supplies. I won't be featured by Martha Stewart anytime soon, but the kids surround me in a flurry of excitement anyway. So, I wrapped some boxes with foil, let the kids choose their stickers, and turned them loose to decorate. I mean, that was my intention. Jaron chose a John Deere theme. He placed a tractor on top first thing, and then he started sticking all of these little tool stickers right up next to it. I said, "Jaron, I really think you need to space out your stickers a little bit." He placed a hammer sticker on the steering wheel and said, "But I am working on my tractor here." Of course he was. Like his grandpa has worked on tractors my whole life. He is Grandpa's buddy. How adorable is that?

Why should he space out his stickers on the box? Are things like balance and coordinating colors supposed to be important to him just because they are important to me? Sometimes it is hard for me to step back and keep my advice to myself. I find myself encouraging the kids to do things like I would do them instead of asking them for their own ideas. So I chose to leave the big kids alone to finish their boxes and gave Megan her bath and bedtime bottle. I think sometimes their ideas are better than mine anyway. Their boxes are their boxes. They are exactly as they wanted them. And do you know what? They are absolutely adorable.

When I have an epiphany, I kind of mean it.

2010-01-26T10:01:00.000-08:00

You may remember my recent epiphany regarding a serious lack of variety in my reading last year. I read a grand total of five different authors. I said this year I was going to branch out. I said this year I would not turn up my nose at book suggestions. I just wanted to update my reading community. Today I officially started reading a book written by author number six for 2010. That is excluding children's books, of course. When I have an epiphany, I kind of mean it. I take it seriously and try to follow through and improve upon what I may have learned. I have not been compelled to purchase any jewelry in honor of my reading just yet, but I am enjoying the assortment of books I have read thus far. And I have only been scared once or twice.

One of the hardest things...

2010-01-22T08:09:00.000-08:00

Megan is on her very first antibiotics. She has been coughing for several days (and nights). She has been unable to sleep very long even if I held her upright in the recliner or propped her up a little on her Boppy pillow. I finally took her to the doctor when she stopped trying get into everything. She lost her voice. It was so sad to see her try to cry and nothing could come out. I could not cuddle her enough.

One of the hardest things about being a mom is knowing your child is suffering. Somehow, whatever your child may be going through is amplified within yourself as a mother. When they laugh, your joy is amplified. When they cry, your sadness is amplified. When they are nervous, proud, thankful...you get the idea. As women we have our own kaleidoscope of emotion but somehow we can feel the emotions of our kids as well. Sometimes we are talking about minor discomforts and sometimes we are talking about heart wrenching tragedies, with a lot of stuff in between, and I realize that. I know there are mothers whose children are hungry and they are unable to feed them. I know there are mothers whose children are sick and they are unable to treat them. I know there are mothers facing chronic health conditions who rise to various challenges every day to reduce their child's struggles. What I am saying is that I believe all mothers hurt when their children hurt. And my poor baby has had a sad week this week. Tonsillitis and an ear infection all at once. That is a lot going on in a little eighteen pound body!

I know I should be naming blessings above all else. I feel guilty in my little corner for worrying about a 101 degree fever when I look around at the devastation faced all over the world. But somebody told me once that whatever mountain I am facing is the mountain I am facing and I don't have to compare it to other people's. It will still mean something when I get through it. So maybe it is okay that it makes me sad when some kids at school made fun of the way I fixed Madison's hair one day and it made her cry. Maybe it's okay when I ache for Jaron when I know he has something to say to someone and I watch him struggle because he is too scared to speak up. And maybe it's okay that I blog about my sad little baby with no voice or energy for anything but patting me on the shoulder as I rock her.

I know how old my kids are.

2010-01-19T12:08:00.000-08:00

Nobody keeps track of a child's age like her mother. Who could remember more vividly the months of planning and anticipation and the hours of labor than the mom? I know how old my kids are. I know that as the school year starts winding down we will be planning Madison's eighth birthday cake. I know she prefers iCarly to princesses now and she reads chapter books and she loves her little friends and she rolls her eyes at her brother. So why do I look at her like I am seeing her for the first time when she says things like, "Things sure have gotten a lot harder around here with this baby in the house, haven't they, Mom? But she makes us happier too!" Why do I hover when she decides to make brownies all by herself when I know she is perfectly capable of reading and measuring? And why do I have to put the brakes on my evening multitasking excitement to take a moment to sit and scrutinize the contents of her book bag when I realize...are you ready for this? She is learning to write in cursive. Not just letters, but words. Didn't she just learn to write the regular way? And didn't we learn to write in cursive in third grade which is...only months away for Madison, really. Babies grow fast in all the obvious ways. These big kids are more sneaky about it. They catch you by surprise when you try to put your hand on their shoulder and realize you need to start reaching a little bit higher all of a sudden. I remember reading that there is something about summer that makes weeds and kids shoot up unexpectedly. If you ask me, they grow fast enough in the winter as well!

As it turns out, I am a snob

2010-01-14T03:44:00.000-08:00

I have always thought myself an open minded person. A person who goes with the flow. Unbiased and tolerant. Multidimensional. I remember ripping the wrapping paper off of my first cassette player/radio when I was a kid and then flying into the packages I knew held my first cassette tapes. One of them was Whitney Houston's debut album. The other one was Dolly Parton's album, "Coat of Many Colors." I loved them both and I don't mind telling you that I can still sing any song from either album in its entirety today. In high school I had CD's by the Dixie Chicks and Destiny's Child. I saw Alabama in concert. My musical tastes have always been diverse. My iPod includes music from Daughtry, Nickelback, Taylor Swift, the Twilight and New Moon soundtracks, Grey's Anatomy soundtracks, and some hip-hop and heavy stuff for walking to a beat. So I have always thought myself a person who approaches life in that way. Looking for variety. I thought this diversity component of myself carried over into my reading as well. I don't know how a person can live within the same skin for 31 years and be so wrong about themselves! As it turns out, I am a snob when it comes to my books. I am a judgemental snob. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

I looked back over the history of my library account online. I read somewhere around thirty books last year. You know what stood out? There were only five different authors. I only joined the library in 2007. Until then, I had given up reading for fun for over 10 years. College, babies...you know the things that can make you feel too busy. I think that because I was out of the loop for so long, I kind of like to read all the books from one author before moving on to the next. In order of copyright date. I say, "kind of like," but that is the only way I have been reading for two years. The only exception comes when an author I have already "finished" publishes a new book. I read it, and continue on with my pattern. And all but four of those thirty books were written by authors inside of my little comfort bubble. Nicholas Sparks. Jodi Picoult. Karen Kingsbury. Nora Roberts. That seems like the exact opposite of diversity to me. I get involved with my books. Nicholas Sparks makes me want to move to the ocean and take daily barefoot walks on the beach and eat shrimp. From 2007 reading, Janette Oke books made me want to drink coffee and have babies. And wear a dress. Beverly Lewis' books made me want to can vegetables and bake bread. I think the reason I typically stay in my little box is I am a little bit afraid to visit the scary, unknown places random authors may be writing about. I like the familiar. I want to tell you what happened to inspire me to branch out and learn from adding diversity to my reading.

My mom, the one who appreciates literary works in almost any form, bought and read the Twilight series as it came out. Occasionally she would mention that I should read them. I said no. I don't read fantasy. It's weird. And the way people were going completely crazy about the whole thing seemed kind of crazy and cult like and it freaked me out a little bit. She told me it was a romance. I told her it was about vampires, and it was for young people, like her students. I saw Stephenie Meyer on the Ellen show one day talking about her dream that led to these books. She seemed like a nice enough girl and they were discussing this love story and I thought maybe it would be interesting to read the series...but then again it was fantasy and it was weird. Snob much?

So just before Megan was born, I grew too weary to do much but read, and I was just as tired of reading the same old thing...so I finally decided to take the plunge. I read Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Within a week. I had two of the books with me in the hospital and read well into the night more than once. Following major surgery and great drugs. I could not put them down. And then I did something I have never done before. I read them again. I could enjoy them so much more the second time because I knew what was coming and I could slow down and enjoy them! And just let me tell you about the third time I read those books...it was like visiting an old friend. For months after reading the Twilight series I did not read any other books. I just knew anything else I read would be a letdown. I had nowhere to go from there. Those books are romantic. And they are my favorite books I have ever read. Not because they are about vampires or wolves. Because they are about loving someone else more than yourself. They are about love overcoming all obstacles when two people are committed to it. They are about making the best of your circumstance in life. They are about chivalry and morality. They are about watching a girl who thinks she is barely average transform into someone who feels beautiful and powerful. Good stuff. So that picture of the Italian charm bracelet above? That's mine. With four book covers of books I was too much of a snob to read. And this is my necklace hanging around my neck. You can get anything under a glass tile with a sterling slide attached on eBay these days! It is my reminder to branch out and try new things, and to love the people I love as hard as I can for as long as I can.

So this year I am going to go crazy and branch out with my reading as much as possible. Any suggestions will be considered without my turning my nose up. This last picture is my mom and I waiting for the New Moon movie to start in the theatre on opening weekend. We were the first ones there, and we were so early they had to run us out to mop the floor after we had already found the best seats in the house. Luckily, we were able to locate those seats again upon re-entry. So, there you have it. I own the books. The third time I read them, they were my very own books. I have the jewelry. I will have all the movies on DVD as they are released. And I will not confirm nor deny the purchase of a collector's edition People magazine showcasing the last movie and exclusive behind the scenes interviews and photos of the actors. So while I may not be a reading snob anymore, it may be that I have developed a whole new set of problems to address!

Exclamation Point!

2010-01-11T11:29:00.000-08:00

My baby has become 10 months old. You know all of those worn out phrases people say every day to describe the unnaturally swift passage of time? Those phrases fill my head every time I take a moment to look at what is going on around me. I feel those phrases to the tips of my toes. It seems like only yesterday that I met my little 6-pound bundle of joy. I don't know where the time has gone. She is growing so fast.

The first nine months have passed without much ado, but as the calendar convinced me Megan is 10 months old, my breath seemed to catch in my throat a little bit as I realized how dangerously close that is to a year! Do you know what that means? It is time to think about her very first birthday cake. It is time to plan a party. (It is time to drop these extra pounds, too, but we don't have to talk about that.) As I was thinking about what a big girl she is becoming, I noticed how we might be able to pull off an actual hairdo to commemorate the event. So, here it is. I had to share Megan's first pony tail. I took her to her babysitter sporting the new 'do and Barb laughed and laughed. She said, "She is a little exclamation point!"

I thought about that as I finished my drive to work. My little exclamation point. I considered how exclamation points indicate strong feelings, high volume, and excitement. And it occurred to me that Barb had described my Megan perfectly. She has strong feelings about her favorite people, her bottle, her blankie, and flavored whole grain puffs. She gets excited about any food I have given her at this point except broccoli. She says, "Dada" most of the time. She says "Baba" for bye-bye, and she says "Mama" when she is sleepy. She waves bye-bye, to herself, and she claps her hands for patty cake. She likes to turn the pages of books. She gets excited when she pushes the buttons on her toys and lights go on and sounds go crazy. The higher the volume, the better. She is on the verge of walking and she thinks that is hilarious. She actually cracks herself up on a regular basis. She laughs along with anyone...I guess she always gets the joke. Pictures can say more than I can. She is such a happy baby when she is around people, and if you take a look you will notice that those people--well, I think they have some strong feelings about her, too!

Big Plans for 2010

2010-01-05T12:15:00.000-08:00

I have had a few ideas worth blogging about lately, but I keep putting it off because I feel obligated to ensure that my first post of 2010 has something to do with the fact that it is 2010. Happy New Year and here are my resolutions and hopes and dreams and fears and all that. I am not a huge New Year's resolution kind of girl. I resolve to do many things many times throughout the year. I need to make it more of an ongoing process instead of an annual event or I will never keep up with it! I get the symbolism and significance of the event, but it typically does not occupy a whole lot of my time and energy, especially this year. I made some festive dip. We stayed home with the kids. We tried to fight off a stomach bug that had plagued our home for over a week. There was a lot of lounging and TV. It was not a big deal for us.

But in the interest of moving on to new thoughts on books and life and my baby turning 10 WHOLE MONTHS OLD, I will tell you that I have big plans for this year. I have plans to spend more time enjoying the people I love. I have plans to make more birthday cakes. I have big plans to love more, laugh more, snuggle more, praise more, exercise more, read more, blog more, and play more. I also have plans to worry less, sleep less(my dad calls that "extending your day"), spend less, eat less, and complain less. 2009 was a big year for me. I am not sure I was ready for it to be over. I had a pretty big hello and some significant good-byes and lots of life in between. Ready or not, 2010 is here. So here is the toast I read online that kind of sums it up for me.
"Here's to the bright New Year
And a fond farewell to the old;
Here's to the things that are yet to come
And to the memories that we hold."

no offense if you are one of THOSE people

2009-12-20T20:33:00.000-08:00

The first Christmas after I was married I sent out one of those holiday letters. You know, the glorious list of newsworthy occurrences of our lives. In a nutshell, it said, "We remodelled a house. We got married. We have jobs." I felt like I had moved on to the next level of grownupness. I thought about getting back into yearly newsletters as our family began to grow. My husband, in one of his more insightful moments, changed my mind when he asked me, "Valerie, if a person doesn't know where we work or how many kids we have, why are we sending them a Christmas card?"

No offense if you are one of those people. A person who sends that letter. I actually enjoy reading those letters. The thing is, if I wrote one today, it would not really let you know what is going on in my life. So I sometimes try to read between the lines to try to see what's really going on in the lives of my friends and family. I mean, if I sent a letter out this year, I would rave about Jaron's love of "big school" and marvel about Madison reading the family favorite Little House books. I would describe Megan, born on Granny's birthday, and her siblings' devotion to her in excruciating detail. I would talk about Kevin and I celebrating our tenth anniversary. I might mention the dogs, cats, cattle...maybe sprinkle in a little vacation, fishing, and gardening. I would talk about little smiles that light up the county and little arms that fit perfectly around my neck.

I probably wouldn't mention that my kindergartener went to the Principal's office for neglecting to keep his hands to himself. I would not begin to get into the battle with worker's compensation we have been dealing with for the last 6 months with Kevin's back injury. I would not tell you that while having enough love for 3 kids comes more easily than I could have imagined, sometimes I think I am not as impressive as a mother of 3 as I hoped I would be. That my house has not been clean for at least 9 months or that I fell asleep feeding the baby in the early days and Madison told her teacher I did not have time to kiss her good night. I would not tell you about the time I cried when I realized Megan had outgrown her first outfit. And at the end of the first day I went without nursing her. I probably would not want to talk about the hard goodbyes that came this year. Grandad. Iris June. Scott.

I am not trying to dwell on difficult times. This is the time of year that I get painfully reflective. I have to tell you that for everything I mentioned that challenged me this year there were ten times more blessings. I have to tell you that I could not ask for a stronger network of family and friends that never hesitate to support me in all situations. This year has flown by faster than people warned me it would. So I am not writing one of those newsletters. Bloggers keep people updated on a regular basis anyway. But if I did, ten years later, it would go something like this: "I still like my husband of ten years and unto us three children have been born. We share our lives with many loving and loyal people. May God bless you and yours during this holiday season and always!"

The First Anniversary

2009-11-17T14:08:00.000-08:00

November fifteenth is the first anniversary Kevin and I ever had. At this time every year I look back and think about the beginning of us. I think back and try to remember what led to the moment when he and I turned into we. How does a blushing teenager with a crush turn into a 31-year-old wife and mother of three children? This is the anniversary of a night spent watching basketball. It was a crowded night in the school I attended for thirteen years with whistles blowing, the score clock buzzing, and the crowd cheering. This is not the anniversary with the rings. This is the anniversary of the night when he turned three shades of red as he considered the best way to find out if we felt the same way about each other. He seemed to find the courage somewhere in his Mountain Dew when finally settled on, "Okay. Will you be my girlfriend?" And my life was changed forever.

As I consider the things I am most thankful for, my first thought is that of course the important things in my life are not things. I am thankful that I got to marry the only boy I ever loved. I am thankful for the families we came from, and the way they are surrounding our children with the same love we grew up with. I can't wait for this holiday season to spend time with all of those people who love us most as we count our blessings together!

Old Friends and New Toys

2009-11-02T10:54:00.001-08:00

Over the weekend I got the opportunity to visit with an old friend. By old, I mean throughout the entirety of my childhood she is included in my memories. I am not trying to imply she is joining the ranks of the elderly or anything. We went outside to let the kids play in the leaves. They ran and dove into that mountain with reckless abandon. It was a beautiful day to be outside. I can still hear the laughter mixed with the occasional, "Make sure he can breathe!" when we lost sight of someone for too long. It was such a priceless intermission from the housework that consumed the majority of my weekend. My friend and I speak regularly on the phone but it was wonderful to see she and her handsome little men in person. Every time we get together I can't seem to understand why we don't find the time to visit more often. Oh, and by the way, this friend I got to see is my wedding photographer friend. And thanks to her I have an awesome new camera that I will be playing with on a regular basis. I am not sure if I am smart enough to use it properly or not, but it is so much fun to zoom in on my little subjects, and it makes all kinds of cool noises when I push buttons. Brace yourselves. You only thought I took lots of pictures before! I am just getting started.

Nostalgia

2009-10-30T11:44:00.000-07:00

I think as moms we sometimes try to punish ourselves for no good reason. Megan is my grand finale baby. I am at peace with that decision, but on my last day of maternity leave with her, I constantly and tearfully reminded myself all day about the finality of it all. From the moment I woke up I tried to mentally document every second of the day. I cried when I rocked her. I cried when I fed her. I cried when I changed her little diaper. I did not realize I might need therapy until I found myself crying as I changed her at bedtime as I considered this last outfit on my last baby on my last day of my last maternity leave. Why do we do that to ourselves?

I love tradition. Simple things like carved pumpkins and cut out cookies and fireworks and Easter egg hunts. So I love that all three of my children wore the same costume for their first Halloween. It is warm and cozy and one small, fuzzy bundle of adorable. I found myself slipping back down that nostalgic slope when I heard myself telling people, "This is my last little froggie." And then I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with me. I had not yet come to any concrete decisions relative to my emotional stability when I met a coworker in the hallway going to lunch today. She told me she was going to her last parent teacher conference for her last high school senior after work. So I shared with her that I was going to be taking my last little froggie trick-or-treating this weekend. And I decided maybe I am going to be just fine.

Redemption

2009-10-29T08:00:00.000-07:00

Our school has always made a big deal out of Halloween. There is a costume parade in the gym complete with prizes for all participants and awards for top costumes in each grade. The bleachers are packed with proud parents and grandparents. Like I said, it is kind of a big deal.

When I was in fourth grade I was an Indian. I was excited. Mom had this beautifully embroidered dress and my Granny was part Indian so I felt all authentic and important. Then I got the chicken pox. And I stayed home from school all week. And I missed my last parade at school. I was traumatized. Since I could not go trick-or-treating, Mom was gracious enough to braid my hair anyway. She let me wear my dress and pass out candy at our house on Halloween night. I do not remember a lot about my elementary years, but I have never forgotten when I was an Indian.

I was embarrassingly excited this year when Madison chose to wear the dress and be an Indian. The very next day I got online and ordered a few accessories to make it her own. As I watched her march by with her classmates, closure was mine at last! Sometimes simply watching my kids enjoy the holiday events can be so much better than any memory I posses from my own childhood. And then my daughter and my dress won third place in her class. Mom leaned in to me and said, "Oh, Valerie! The dress has been redeemed!" It was a proud moment in our family history.

The Family Award

2009-10-23T07:17:00.000-07:00

"Lo, children are a gift of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is His reward" Psalm 127:3

I remember Madison and I attending her little Spring program at preschool when she was barely four years old. We went without the boys because little Jaron, almost 2, had a fever and cough and ended up staying home with his daddy. I was the traditionally proud mom in the metal folding chair with cameras in both hands. The kids sang adorable little songs in precious little outfits and the grandmas smiled at them and the dads nodded their heads at them. It is on my long list of treasured memories.

The time came for the teacher to hand out awards to the class. There were awards for the best listener, the person most willing to share, the best artist, and so on. The teacher had a perfect knack for choosing their little strengths and awarding them accordingly. Well, Miss Amanda began talking about a little girl who spent all of her free time talking about her family. She said, "Every picture she draws is of her family. Every story she tells is about her family. Every project we work on reminds her of her family. She tells me every day how she can't wait for her little brother to be old enough to come to preschool with her." You guessed it. The award for the Most Family Oriented went to my little girl.

I cried a little bit. I mean, I was never going to be that sappy mom who turned red at my child's every accomplishment, but how could I help myself? I worked full-time. I took vacations days for almost every preschool field trip and I made it to some of the holiday parties, but my treat bags were not full of homemade goodness. I bought stuff to go in there. And my contributions to the program refreshments that night? I bought those too. It felt like cheating. I did not give cute little homemade cards and gifts for the teachers. Working away from home most days has always made me wonder and second guess myself. I try to make the most of my evenings but the laundry and cooking and cleaning still have to get done sometime. Do the kids know how much I love them? Do I hug them enough? Do I spend enough time talking to each of them every single day? Are they going to remember the cupcakes I brought to their Halloween party or the one field trip I missed when they got to ride a horse? Do they truly understand that they are my first priority? The Most Family Oriented award made me think maybe, just maybe, I was getting some part of motherhood right. Maybe I was getting the message across about how much I treasured our family and maybe she felt the same way.

Three years later I believe Madison is still earning the family award. This week she brought home this picture. She drew it at "stations." She is a big kid in second grade now. My heart sings when I get these reminders that she thinks about us while she is away from home. I hope she understands that she, along with her brother and sister, will always comprise the greatest family award.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

2009-10-09T07:16:00.000-07:00

One of my best friends came to me for speaking advice. Her mother is celebrating her 80th birthday this weekend and she was trying to decide what she should say in addition to thanking everyone for coming. She was thinking of talking about all she had learned from her mother and did not know what to incorporate. I told her maybe something short and sweet would be appropriate. I told her I would thank everyone for coming and sharing in this great tribute to her mother. I told her saying "Happy Birthday" and "I love you" would go a long way. I told her it would be neat to write a letter to her mom about all she had learned from her that she could place in her scrapbook that she is planning to make of the event. So that is the plan.

Today I wanted to write something to commemorate my own mother's birthday. It is coming up tomorrow. What could I say to thank her for the misery she endured when she was sick with the flu as she carried me? (She got down to 97 pounds. My grandma told her that her fever was probably cooking my brain.) How can I write a post that will do justice to the woman who gave birth to me without drugs? The woman with the band-aids and ear drops and ice chips who spent years reading books to me and waiting in the car for me. The woman who has always answered my questions without letting me think any of them were stupid. The woman who has always demonstrated what a loving wife and mother should be. The woman who has always cheered me on and been one of my biggest fans. Even when I did not think I was doing such a great job. She supported me when I was an athlete, a singer, a writer, and a college student. She supports my hobbies. She encourages me as a wife and a mother. We share authors and books and recipes and health tips and laughter and tears. She provides a positive, gentle touch to every aspect of my life. And she is loving my children and affecting their lives in exactly the same way. When I tell them we are going to Grandma Judy's they light up like I said we are going on vacation. So you see, paying tribute to my mom will probably take many posts over an extended period of time. I guess the only thing I can do is say Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you!

The Joys of Motherhood

2009-09-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

It's the way her sweet, round cheek fits perfectly against my chest as she drifts off to sleep.
It's the way her smile lights up the darkest night in these crazy hours that we keep.

It's the way her tiny hand grips my finger and it seems to make the whole world right.
It's the way she grabs my face with both little hands and tries to eat it in one slobbery bite.

It's the way I am the only one who can calm her when a loud noise gives her a scare.
It's the warm softness of her baby skin. It's the velvety feel of her hair.

It's the way those lashes provide an adorable frame for eyes that pierce my heart.
It's the way I can't quite seem to take a deep breath in the time that we spend apart.

It's the way she personifies love and hope and dreams in one bundle, adorned with a bow.
These are the joys of motherhood. I thank God these are things that I know.

Steak and Cake

2009-09-23T11:14:00.000-07:00

Today is my husband's birthday. I would like to write about the elaborate gifts I have wrapped up for him and the detailed list of celebratory events I have planned. The truth is, yesterday I got him the biggest bag of DumDums you have ever seen at Sam's. He has a very serious need for football candy on Sundays. And this evening I will grill him a steak and bake him a potato. Afterwards he will have a small, beautifully decorated cake (that I plan to pick up at Wal-Mart after work). And that's it. Happy Birthday #32.

In considering what to say about him today I keep thinking of a song that was one I planned to have at our wedding. It is not a famous song. It is "I Do" by Paul Brandt and it is on my iPod. I listened to it today in a "remember to love and appreciate my husband" kind of way. I still like it. And I still feel this way about Kevin and I. And I realize how blessed I am that he is still having birthdays.

I've seen the storm clouds in your past
But rest assured 'cause you are safe at home at last
I rescued you, you rescued me
And we're right where we should be when we're together

I know the questions in your mind
But go ahead and ask me one more time
You'll find the answer's still the same
It won't change from day to day for worse or better

Will I promise to be your best friend?
And am I here until the end?
Can I be sure I have been waiting for you?
And did I say my love is true?

Baby I will, I am, I can, I have, I do

I know the time will disappear
But this love we're building on will always be here
No way that this is sinking sand
On this solid rock we'll stand forever

Will I promise to be your best friend?
And am I here until the end?
Can I be sure I have been waiting for you?
And did I say my love is true?

Baby I will, I am, I can, I have, I do

my attempt to refocus

2009-09-21T13:07:00.000-07:00

I am mostly a glass half-full kind of girl. I would rather believe the best of someone and be wrong than to believe the worst of someone and be right. Life has been more negative lately, and I have not been able to shake it as I normally would. I have not been able to find the good that is promised to come from even the worst of situations. It's just that lately when I look around I see more valleys than peaks in the world. I am not proud to admit it. I know as a mother I should never be challenged to count my blessings and see the beauty in life. I mean, look at this fearfully and wonderfully made baby who loves me! I know there are very small things going on in my house that I should be able to brush off without effort or encouragement from my loved ones. The sleep deprivation that comes with a teething baby. The chaos that comes with ripping out the kitchen carpet. The inevitable concern that comes with an injured spouse and the uncertainty of our future. Those are things that wear on weak people. Or totally egocentric people.

I am that weak, egocentric person who sometimes lets petty, trivial things get me down. When it comes down to it, though, my life is a fairytale compared to many. My children are healthy. My husband is alive. We have a home and a family and meat in the freezer and hundreds of jars of vegetables in the pantry. I look around and see people with valleys so big that I do not understand how they are climbing back out of them. Death. Cancer. Illness. Divorce. Unemployment. And I see inspirational strength in those same people. They are the people who are encouraging others to stay positive. They are shining their light in a way that completely puts me and my dark little corner to shame. I want to be more impressive. I want to impact others in a positive way. So today when I get home I am going to dig out my gratitude journal. I am going to blow the dust off of it. And I am going to regroup. Refocus. Rethink my priorities. I am not sure what to do after that. I'm kind of hoping it will come to me.

saying goodbye

2009-09-11T09:47:00.000-07:00

I will never forget the day my Granny died. My most vivid memories come from the biggest days of my life. You know, the best of times. The worst of times. I remember everything from that day. Everything from my righteous indignation towards the so-called doctors who could have possibly come up with such a misguided prognosis--to the waiting room at the hospital filled with tearful people that loved Granny and Grandad. You have seen that sign that says, "All because two people fell in love?" It should have been hanging on the wall in that waiting room. Looking back, there are two moments from that day that are crystal clear in my memory that I will carry with me always.

The first moment was when my sister and I arrived at Boone Hospital. I saw someone standing on the sidewalk and instantly knew it was my mom. She was waiting for us. She looked very small and isolated against that brick building. As we approached her I saw the waves of sadness in her red eyes and I felt the desperation in her warm hug. That was when I knew the doctors may not have been mistaken after all.

Granny and Grandad held hands. They walked with their arms linked together. I was not surprised when I got to her room and Grandad was holding her hand. I was not surprised to see his other hand gently stroking her hair. I remember hearing him say, "You didn't get too many gray hairs, did you, Sugar?" And my heart was broken. For myself. For my mom. And for Grandad. Her husband of fifty-six years. I remember thinking if my husband holds my hand that gently and speaks to me so softly after fifty-six years of marriage...then I will have lived a good life.

I was relieved when it was over. I never wanted to lose her, of course, but when someone you love is suffering and inevitably near the end, you just want it to be over. You want them to go on to glory where there is no suffering or crying or pain and it was a relief to know she was there. But it was not over. Losing a loved one is not a wound that ever really heals. I miss Granny during birthdays and holidays. I miss her when I see a lady in a skirt that reminds me of hers or smell perfume like she use to wear. I think of her when I am sitting beside my children and can't help but affectionately pat their little legs. I think about her big, tight hugs and wish she could have squeezed on my kids like she squeezed on me. But nobody missed her like Grandad.

While loved ones gathered again at the hospital to say goodbye to Grandad I couldn't help but consider how remarkable it was that he survived over nine years without her. They went everywhere together. They went camping. They visited family and friends. They attended my ball games and milestone events. Their love and devotion to their family was always obvious to me. I was blessed to be able to know and love my grandparents. To me, saying goodbye to Grandad is saying goodbye to all of my grandparents and their entire generation of people. Honorable people. People who stayed married. People who were honest. People who were kind, respectful, hard-working, content, and on time. People who demanded the best from you because they would always give you their best in return. People who were devoted to their families and to their country. I will always miss those people. And I will always miss Grandad. I was sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his hand, when he took his last breath. Megan was asleep against my chest, and I could feel his wedding band between my fingers. Thank God, it was the most peaceful thing I have ever seen. My comfort comes from my belief that he and Granny are together again at last. I can smile about that.

We made it!

2009-08-28T08:13:00.000-07:00

I think sometimes as my children take turns reaching for those milestones I tend to let my focus shift back and forth between them. A friend told me she read that the only way to treat your children exactly the same is to only have one child! I believe that. Sometimes they need more from me than other times. More help. More worry. More praise. More attention. More discipline. And if all that fails and I finally realize YET AGAIN that I can't do it all by myself, more prayer. I think I have been so wrapped up in sending Jaron off to big, scary kindergarten that I may have neglected to share some priceless blogging material. I want to get this down before I forget about it.

I was glad for school to start this year. This has been kind of a crazy summer with splitting the kids between several babysitters and a crazy commuting routine. Megan did not start with her full-time babysitter until school started, and while I had awesome people stepping in to help me through the summer, I seriously had printed out a Microsoft calendar to help me keep track of where they were supposed to go each day due to the various vacations, camps, workshops, ballgames, and appointments that needed to be scheduled around. It was color coded(Madison Jaron Megan). I had an awesome friend helping with the baby and an awesome teenager with no baby experience that was more comfortable with just the big kids so it was a little bit of a juggling act. And I had grandmas for in between. I had severe apprehension that I would forget where to go to pick somebody up one day.

And then Kevin hurt his back. After a few weeks he took over as caretaker of Madison and Jaron most of the time but we kept Megan on her babysitter schedule. It was nice leaving the big kids in bed in the mornings, and while one would assume this change on the calendar would alleviate a lot of my stress, somehow it didn't. I came home to muddy Levi shorts I had bought for "school clothes" laying in a muddy heap in my laundry room(I would totally do a Shout commercial after that day if any Shout execs are reading). I came home to dirty dishes and exhausted children because Daddy time is fun time. I came home to stories something like, "My daddy was looking like a cowboy and swinging his rope and he got me!" or "Has anybody ever chased you with a lawn mower? It's really fun!" And my big kids, who remained best friends through the preschool years when I just knew they would feud, decided officially this summer to spend time every single day not getting along. I was unsure whether to blame the excessive time with their dad, their ages in general, too much quality time together all summer, or my own inadequacies, but I was glad for school to start this year. I have been looking forward to it. I wanted to take that deep, cleansing breath and say that we made it!

We knew it was coming and we planned for it and we shopped for it and we labeled everything and we were ready. Monday morning, aka day 1, I was awakened at 4:40 am by my baby girl who had decided breakfast would not wait until daylight. I snuggled up with Megan, feeding her and dozing a little, as I do a lot of mornings. I usually get up shortly after 5 anyway, so when I finished feeding her around 5:10 I headed to the bathroom for my usual morning routine. The TV was on in the living room. I heard, "Mom? Mom? I got up and brushed my teeth and brushed my hair and got all my new clothes on. I'm ready for the bus! I'm just watching a show about Abraham Lincoln while I wait."

It was true. Our TV was tuned to the History Channel and a very detailed Abraham Lincoln documentary. It sure looked like too much information for me, pre-daylight and pre-caffeine. I said, "Madison, I am pretty sure neither the bus or your new teacher are ready for you just yet!" Much to her dismay I made her go back to bed for a couple of hours. I was glad to see her excitement settle enough to let her go back to dozing peacefully sometime during my shower. All I could think was that presidential documentaries at 5 am and early morning bright-eyed children can only mean one thing. School is ON! With almost a week down, she is loving 2nd grade...and she is back to sleeping until I wake her in the mornings. And she loves her brother again. So I guess we did make it after all!

maybe I need more practice

2009-08-24T09:38:00.000-07:00

Jaron has been ready to go to big school for a long time now. Last year, when we took Madison to first grade, he cried the entire 30 miles to preschool because he wanted to stay there with her. He said he was big. He tried to convince me that maybe he was 5 already and maybe he had already had his Spiderman birthday cake. Since I am the cake maker, I was confident that at that time, he had not yet enjoyed his Spiderman birthday cake. He had not blown out the 5 candles that would boost him to that long awaited age in which he could ride the awesome yellow bus to school. Well...as August rolled around this year...there was no denying the fact that he had.

I asked him last night if he was ready to finally go to big school and anxiously awaited the excitement that would follow when he realized it was time at last! He looked away from me and said, "Maybe I need more practice." He only learned to write his name this summer. He wanted to practice some more. This morning when I got him up he wanted to practice his name again. I never considered he would worry about his school work. All this time I have been nervous that he will be bashful. This is the boy who told me he is "shy of lots of people." I just want him to like school and like his teacher and like his new little friends. I want him to be able to get his chocolate milk open and cut up his french toast and not worry about the crowd around him.

I think I have done a great job keeping my poker face on as this monumental day has been approaching us. I have had big smiles for him. But when the big, brick building grew larger as we approached I felt my heart start to flutter. Not with excitement like when I was a student, but with anxiety and hope and dreams and wishes for him. This is my only son. If the world made any sense at all he would be a toddler dumping an entire box of Cheerios in the kitchen floor before throwing them in the air with glee. "Are you going to come in my classroom with me?" he asked with the big, brown eyes. Of course I was. Of course I was going to help him find his desk and find his breakfast and find his teacher and open his milk carton.

Kevin and I were kind of hovering in the doorway to make sure he went where he was supposed to. After he finished eating breakfast there was a moment of hesitation at the doorway as he decided which way to go. His little friend pulled him by the hand to lead him down the stairs to the gym where the students were gathering for an assembly, and he decided to follow her instead of coming back to his dad and I like I could tell he was considering. I felt my eyes start to sting as I walked down the long hall and out the door much more quickly than I had come in. Maybe I need more practice, too.

Just between us girls...

2009-08-12T13:54:00.000-07:00

There is something about watching a big, tough man be gentle that melts a woman's heart in a way nothing else can. I was thinking about how funny it is that young men (actually men of all ages) try to show off their strength and abilities when they are trying to impress the girls. They want big muscles and big trucks and big houses and big wallets full of big bills. They want to find the biggest Indian artifact or catch the biggest fish or shoot the biggest buck or trap the biggest bobcat. They think those are the things that will impress the girl of their dreams. I really don't think we should tell them that they could make us proud with far less effort on their part. Just between us girls, I am appropriately proud of my big, strong man and all, but the most impressive sight I have seen in a long time has nothing to do with anything huge and manly. My big, tough man looks most impressive to me when he has a grip on one of his more tiny accomplishments. And all he has to do to impress her is watch her blow bubbles.

Prince Charming

2009-07-31T09:15:00.000-07:00

My husband has never really been my Prince Charming. To begin with, I have never considered myself to be a damsel in distress. If you were to look back over my history, you would not find impossibly locked towers or poisoned apples or wicked step-family members. What you would find is a mom who was always supportive even when I did not make the most outstanding decisions. You will find a dad who always fixed whatever ailed my car, sometimes without my ever knowing anything was wrong first. You will find a sister who was always available to laugh or cry with me as the situation deemed necessary. You will find a brother who has always been the tiniest bit over-protective. Math has never really been my favorite thing, but when I add all of that up I get a girl who has always known that there were people who loved her.

Kevin is rarely moved to break out grand romantic gestures. He is not a guy who sends me flowers for no reason. His idea of helping around the house is to hire a teenage girl to come over and work for me. I pick out the majority of gifts I receive for the major holidays. I have friends who ask if this particular aspect of our relationship bothers me...and I can honestly say it does not. I like choosing things for myself that I know I will enjoy or use. Would I be pleasantly surprised to get flowers from Kevin on a Wednesday in January? Yes. Do I need them to know he loves me? No. He may not be my Prince Charming, but one thing I know for sure is that he is the love of my life.

I have loved Kevin since I was thirteen years old. I loved his smile and the way he stood out on the basketball court but did not show off in a crowd. On November 15, 1991, he bought me a Mountain Dew at a junior high basketball tournament and asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. He gave me a heart shaped ring with the tiniest diamond chip for my fourteenth birthday. He gave me a ring six years later with some bigger diamonds and asked another important question. I said yes again. I love him for holding my hand when I was struggling to say good-bye to loved ones. I love him for making every day things fun and for making me laugh. I love him for not letting me wallow in a bad mood. I love him for playing with our kids on a daily basis. I love how the kids light up when they see him and how he shows excessive enthusiasm over their latest accomplishments. I love how we can have entire conversations without saying a word. I love that he loves hunting and fishing and how he has started sharing that with the kids(remind me of this during a busy time when I haven't seen him for days due to his being gone shooting or catching something). I love his soft spot for dogs and how he always seems to know what they need. I love how it embarrasses him when I brag about him.

Tomorrow is our tenth anniversary. I look around at friends and family who are divorcing and I can't help but wonder...what makes us different? How do I know that is not going to happen to us? Marriage may not always be what we expected. We may not be impressed with each other every single day. You know those conversations without words? They are not always love and sunshine. I do know that his cheek was against mine on three very important days when I had three very important surgeries resulting in the three most intricate and beautiful gifts that could have ever been given to me. We rarely spend time alone together these days, but loving our three precious children together in that fierce, blind, and protective way that only parents can know, I have never been more content in my life. And I still love his smile. Ten years of marraige and three kids later, we may never know what I would have done for that man if he had splurged for a candy bar to go with that drink!

Just let me see how loose it is...

2009-07-27T07:54:00.001-07:00

I think the way a person decides to pull a tooth says something about their personality. Kind of like the way a person chooses to remove their electrodes that go with their heart monitor or the way a person chooses to remove a band-aid. Some people gingerly pick all the way around it and gradually work them loose and some people just rip them off with a wince. It all boils down to one question. Would you rather have less pain over a longer period of time or would you rather your pain were a little more intense and brief?

I am more of a rip off the band-aid type. Get it over with and move on. When I was little, my dad pulled my teeth for me. I would rather let him yank it out than let it stay sore in my mouth all day. And I was very proud of Madison for choosing that same path. She asked me to pull her tooth on Saturday. I had the most distinct feeling of deja vu as I said, "Just let me see how loose it is." I can't tell you how many times my dad said that to me just before handing me a tooth to put under my pillow. Well, it must work well because she did not feel a thing and it was over very quickly. Somehow missing a tooth just boosts a kid up to a new level of adorable. I have asked to see her smile at least a dozen times in the last day and a half. And of course I got a picture of one of them.

Proud Mama

2009-07-14T07:10:00.001-07:00

I have been such a proud mama lately. Megan has been sleeping all night for about a month now. She goes down anywhere from 9:00-10:30pm and sleeps peacefully until somewhere between 5:00-6:00am. It has been wonderful! She is such a content little baby most of the time and I am having so much fun with her!

Jaron has been riding his bike like a professional. While he still endures the occasional crash, hills cannot slow him down anymore, and he dodges obstacles in his path like a speed racer. He loves to entertain his baby sister and has been doing his chores like a big boy. What can I say? I am a proud mama.

Madison has chores also. She has been keeping up with them like a champ. I think she is playing house. Yesterday I came home to find her cleaning above and beyond her duties. She later decided to help me fold clothes without being asked. Yep. I was thinking about how much she has grown up this summer and how proud I was of her renewed desire to help mama out around the house. She held up a pair of underwear and said, "Mom, whose are these?" After being informed that they were mine, she replied, "I actually didn't know because they are enormous!" I guess I have always been proud of her large vocabulary too.

So thank you, Madison, for the reminder to get rid of my maternity granny panties. I am 7.5 pounds lighter than when I wrote my last post. I am on my way to being healthy again. Hopefully to avoid this confusion my underwear will be much smaller very soon!

Finally

2009-07-07T07:14:00.000-07:00

We have a shiny 4x6 frame in our house that says "Family" on it. I keep our most recent family snapshot there. Usually that consists of a leftover Christmas card photo or a slice of summer fun. Madison has been concerned about that frame since Megan was born. Now that she reads, she takes issue with making sure things are as they should be. She keeps telling me, "But it doesn't have our whole family in it! That must hurt Megan's little feelings!" I am learning that with a family of five, the opportunity to get the family picture is not that abundant(That admission is for you, Mom!). When you think about having all members of the family awake and happy and clean and available at the same time without being in a hurry to get somewhere...well, that is not the sort of thing that happens every day at our house.

At long last (yes, four months is a long time to a 7-year-old and her scrapaholic mother), the holiday weekend provided such an opportunity for the Peavlers. I gathered everyone to Mom's swing and coerced Kristy into camera duty and the end result was our first family picture including Megan Joleen. I put it in the frame and Madison said, "FINALLY! Our whole family is in the family frame!" Yes. She speaks the truth. Looking at it I couldn't understand why I had put it off for four months. I have been waiting years to put a picture of my "whole family" in that frame. And now I have. Finally.

my favorite surgery

2009-06-29T09:21:00.000-07:00

Five years ago today I had my favorite surgery. And my favorite boy. My pregnancy with Jaron went by the book. I did not have to do any additional non stress tests or ultrasounds as all was well in the womb. He patiently waited until my scheduled c-section to arrive, exactly one week prior to my due date. The surgery itself was the most smooth and least painful of them all. Kevin, who was hanging on the verge of a full blown panic attack and almost speechless with Madison's c-section, gave me a play-by-play of the surgery as I blissfully felt NOTHING until the slight tug that let me know he was finally here. The first thing Kevin said to me after the surgery was, "If Madison had been like this we could have two or three more kids!" I never included myself in that "we" he was talking about, but I admit it was my favorite surgery. Barely a year has gone by since we decided to try for baby #3. I remember thinking maybe I would be expecting at Jaron's 5th birthday party. I never dreamed Megan would be here celebrating with us. As we were getting ready to go Jaron said, "Guess what, baby? This is your brother's birthday party with cake!" And she smiled at him.

I love Jaron's deep, brown eyes and long eyelashes. I love his smile and cannot contain my own any time he flashes it at me. It is completely contagious. This works to his advantage when he is in trouble. He is a happy guy 99% of the time and goes with the flow. He loves his sisters and tractors and Spiderman. He loves to ride his bike and go swimming. He loves to go fishing and haul hay with Grandpa and he loves to ride in Daddy's fishing boat in the river. He loves chocolate and pancakes and meat (which does not include hot dogs). He is adorably bashful. He told me after his party, "I'm shy of lots of people. I'm not shy of one people." It is true. He is my sweet boy. He still hugs me without embarrassment. He melts my heart on a daily basis. Happy Birthday, Jaron! May you always have that happy, positive attitude that is such a blessing to our family!

stay-at-home dad

2009-06-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

You know, my husband has never really been the primary caretaker of the children. If we were to tally up baths given, diapers changed, and meals prepared, I am confident that the majority of the little marks would register to my side of the paper. And he does not believe in putting Band-Aids on boo-boos that cannot be seen with the naked eye. And he does not require them to use sunscreen to step outside the door.

He likes to be the fun one. The one who does not enforce bedtime and lets them watch Spongebob. He has a large reserve of patience, most of the time, and as the kids get bigger they go with him more and more often to help him with anything and everything, as long as it is not dangerous. He does not mind that, while one would assume help would speed up his work, sometimes that "help" ends up making projects go much more slowly. At the same time, as I believe many men do, he has his own agenda. He tends to assume everything should take place in the time frame that he deems necessary and he believes that (dare I say it?) everything should, for the most part, revolve around his schedule. I once held up one hand and said to him, "This is not a universe where this is you and (while circling my other hand around the first one) this is the world!" to which he replied, "Oh, but it should be!"

Kevin hurt his back a several weeks ago at work. The first week he was off was rough. He was hurting bad. He was having back spasms. I threatened to obtain some big strong men to take him to the ER to get relief ASAP! At one point he was unable to get up and all I can really do for him in a situation like this if bring him something to eat or drink. He is 6'4" and weighs 240 pounds. There is no picking him up myself. The first few days he would tell me which channels were going to have the best movies on that day. I remember it was TBS one day and USA the next. He has been required to stay home for almost a month now. Gradually he has been getting better.

After that first week I started leaving the big kids home with him to let them have some quality time with Dad, and to save some of those babysitting dollars. I have to admit I was apprehensive. I also have to admit I sort of like things to be my way when it comes to the kids. There were a few things I noticed right away that were different than when I stay home with them, of course. A few extra bumps and bruises here and a slight sunburn there. Jaron's brand new Levi shorts, mud covered, in the laundry when his drawer is full of play clothes. Dads just do not do things the same way that moms do. I chose to ignore these things because there were additional matters to be noticed as well.

I came home one day to a swing hanging in the tree. With my kids sitting on it. Our swing set had been broken for awhile. I did not realize he had saved a swing to put up someday. I came home one day to find the swimming pool being set up in the yard. The kids LOVE to play in the water and jump in with reckless abandon. One day this week, our dog Max died. We think he had a heat stroke. Kevin set up the slip N slide that evening to help the kids cheer up a little bit. It worked. Kevin took the training wheels off of Jaron's bike and taught him to ride it without them. A couple days later he was pushing off without help.

They have helped him pick cherries, take care of animals, and put gutters on their great-grandma's house. He has taken them to the park. And he cooks for them. Not frozen dinners but bacon and eggs, pancakes, hamburger helper, and tenderloins. One night this week he has grilled steak and hot dogs for supper. Another night he fried chicken and made mashed potatoes and gravy. I think maybe I could get use to his being off work. He has been so carefree and relaxed that it makes me wish he could have more time off on a regular basis. I love being able to leave the kids in bed when I go to work instead of getting them up early. I love them being able to stay home and play. And swim. And ride bikes. I love that they are having a real summer vacation at home. I would love to be the one staying home with them for the summer. But I do not begrudge Kevin for having this opportunity. I can see the relationship between them solidifying before my eyes and it melts my heart. The card Madison made for her daddy for Father's Day says it all.

Iris June

2009-06-17T09:45:00.000-07:00

I met Iris June when I was 17 years old. She was introduced to me as "Kevin's old babysitter." I was naive about a lot of things when I was 17. Okay, almost everything. I did not possess one solitary memory of having a babysitter. I had no concept of what that could mean. On the rare occasion that I was left with someone, my mom left me with my grandparents. I remember three very distinct first impressions stemming from this first meeting with Iris June. First, this woman was actually shorter than me! It is something you notice when you are 5'2". Second, she seemed like a nice lady(another point chalked up for my first impressions being so right on!). And third, it was obvious to me that she loved Kevin.

I was a teenager and I loved my boyfriend and I thought everything he said was funny and everything he did was impressive and adorable. Meeting his childhood babysitter, and seeing her look up at him and call him her "little Kevie" with a quiet, warm smile...well it made me wonder about all the things I did not know about him. All the cute little things he did growing up that made him into the person who would be the love of my life. She was there for most of that. And the more time I spent with Iris June, the more stories she told me. And the more I understood that "babysitter" was a very insignificant title for the role she played in his life. I started to understand that family is not something that requires blood ties and matching noses and eye color. She was a grandmother to him. She was a mother to him. She was a friend to him. He spent most days with Iris June and her husband, Joe, and spent the night often, too. She was monumental in his upbringing and could not have cared for him more lovingly if he had been her own baby.

She told me a story about how at bedtime she would snuggle Kevin up and knock on the headboard and say, "Go away, Sandman, you can't have my little Kevie! He's my boy!" She had to do it every time he spent the night. One night he decided he would protect her, too, and he knocked on the headboard and said, "Go away, Sandman, you can't have Iris June! She's my boy!" And she laughed. Her laugh could fill a room if not the entire house!

Another time she and Joe were teasing him by fighting over whose boy he was. Joe's boy or Iris June's boy. He finally said, "OK, Iris June. You can have my top half and Joe can have my bottom half!" She told him that would be good because she didn't want his stinky bottom anyway!

She and Joe taught Kevin a lot. He gardened with them. He went to church with them. He milked cows and put up hay with them. She got him to do things like sing solo in church, play the guitar, and crochet an afghan. He cooked and baked with her. Kevin loved them both very much. I have never heard him say a cross word about Iris June in the 18 years he has been in my life. She was his soft spot. His expression always melted into a whole new level of adorable when she was around. Over the years when I thought Kevin was misbehaving I would tell her maybe she should have spanked him more when he was little. She always said, "Oh, I never spanked Kevin! He never needed a spanking!" Just as she loved Kevin as a son, she loved my kids as her own grandchildren and did not miss any of their birthdays or Christmases even though I know she has not felt very well for some time now. When I told her I was expecting baby #3 she said, "Good. Two kids are not enough!"

I don't know what else I can say to do justice to this woman who, while she never delivered a child of her own, loved many children wholeheartedly. I have given birth to three of those children she loved, and I am married to another one of them. She loved people and baking and telling stories. And she was loved and treasured by all of us. I think the people who treasured her the most were the ones she cherished from the time they were babies. We visited Iris June in the hospital on Mother's Day. She was holding Megan when the nurse came in to check on her. The nurse asked if her lunch was okay and Iris June said, "It was fine, but this baby is my dessert!" Iris June was the dessert in my husband's life for his entire childhood. I am grateful for the love she has shown my family and I over the years. I am grateful for her contributions to the man I am sharing my life with. We will miss her always.

*********************************************************************

Madison

Jaron

Megan

diary of a mad fat woman

2009-05-21T06:30:00.000-07:00

I know there are women out there who are naturally and beautifully skinny. I know that when they get pregnant and have babies they get that glow that you hear about. They can walk around the week before delivery looking like they swallowed a basketball, or sometimes even a volleyball. They wear their wedding rings to the hospital and their regular shoes and most people would not even notice their pregnancy at all. If you are one of those women, you can stop reading now.

I am not one of those women. I have never been able to wear my wedding ring into my last trimester. I have gained 54, 57, and 40 pounds with each pregnancy. I look like I swallowed a pilates ball. And I swell. My most recent pregnancy caused the most swelling. I bought shoes that were two and a half sizes larger than normal for me. I had no rings to fit. I could not even wear my watch. I know that I was very supersized and did not need to be reminded on a regular basis as I was--you may remember my post on things you should consider NOT saying to a pregnant woman. I lost 25 pounds after I had Megan, before I left the hospital. And not much since. I have not really actively been trying to lose the weight yet. And I am only 5'2". I know this.

I am breastfeeding. I will just tell you that my chest size causes some clothing issues. It makes any regular shirt too short on me so I realize I am still wearing a lot of my maternity shirts. But overall I am feeling so much better than I was before I had Megan and I am starting to take what little self-esteem I had left and pick it up off the floor and venture out in public again. Or at least I was. Until yesterday.

I passed someone in the hall at work, just going about my usual business. It was a girl I do not know well. I knew what department she was from but I did not know her name. So I was almost by her when I heard her say, "Still no baby, huh?" I looked around the empty hallway to discover it was just she and I and she was speaking. To. Me. I realize the Wii Fit told me I was obese but do I seriously look like I AM ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH???

I promptly walked to her department to ask them if they could fire her, please. And I know her name now. And the diet is ON.